How Lucky We Are
by Tosa
Summary: In another place, in another time, Dallas gets a second chance to say what he couldn't before. But will he figure out what he has to say before history is doomed to repeat itself? DallyJohnny, slash.
1. Verse One

I actually started this _before_ I finished the book, but it was only after I was done with the Outsiders that I really began work on detail and an actual plot. **The rating will most likely go up**, and yes; _**this is slash.**_ As in, boy/boy love.

This is my first non-anime, full slash fic. Please read and review. :3

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**R**eincarnation can be a tricky business. Even if there is someone you promised yourself you'd see on the other side, or in this case another life, there is always a catch; for one, the time during which you died did not always guarantee the time during which you actually came back. So two golden-eyed brothers could have been killed at the exact same time, perhaps even committed suicide together, and ended up born again twenty years apart. You could even be reborn a little while _before_ you died. Confusing, yes, but according to the church, a baby can not be allotted into heaven until it gains its humanity, and that while off could be just about the time Dallas Winston went down underneath the streetlight. 

Another big issue with all this reincarnation business was the location; for instance, when good 'ol Two-Bit made his way back into the world of the living, he ended up a farm boy in Wyoming. It was pretty far off from our next former greaser, Steve, who was currently studying to get into MIT while bunking out in his friend's apartment in western Pennsylvania. Now, a funny thing about Steve; like the other boys, he didn't remember anything about his past life. And while he didn't participate in quite so... well, outright redneck activities, i.e. tipping cows like our dearest Keith (as Two-Bit was now known), Steve _did_ have his fair share of differences.

Steve was a health nut; in all of his eighteen years of living, he hadn't once touched a can of cola. It wasn't until the night before his entrance exams that his roommate offered him some grape soda. Normally, Steve would have turned him down, but he had just downed his fifth fat-free latte and was drifting off, so he took it, supposing he needed a little pick-me-up. He'd heard caffeine was a good way to keep someone awake, which was just the reason why his mother had forbidden him from it in the first place. Bad nights with his father; she'd never had the chance to see if Steve would react the same way, seeming as she forbade him almost as soon as he could process words but wasn't quite old enough to protest.

It was warm and burned the end of his tongue ever so slightly, but it kept him awake the rest of the night (as his mother had predicted) and then some. In fact, he was awake to the point where he ran out of studying to do. And first thing in the morning, hours away from the start of his test, he headed down to the neighboring grocers and bought five cases of every soda brand he could find. True, he wondered a bit about his odd obsession, but then almost immediately decided he had just been a sodapop salesman in a past life and went on caressing a precious case of Pepsi.

But past lives didn't always have an effect on current ones, whether it be the mild, fun-loving influence like Keith or the raving OCD of Steve. Cherry bussed tables at a diner where Darry went every morning before work, and he didn't say more than two words to her unless they were to hurry up, you dumb broad, because he had a real working job to get to. She promptly spit in his soup. Blood relations had barely any effect, either; the Curtis boys had been all split up.

But in all this un-redemption, there was one almost good thing; Ponyboy knew Dallas. But that didn't necessarily mean he wanted to.

At this key moment, Ponyboy happened to be sprinting down the rain-soaked sidewalks, using his books as coverage rather than an actual umbrella, just as he did everyday and for which he would eventually pay. This _was_ Seattle area, after all.

Ponyboy supposed he could've waited a while for the rain to let up, as it did every morning for a short period of time, but as it was there was danger lurking behind every corner that enjoyed the dry hours. And that was where Dallas came in.

Every morning, perhaps even on the weekends, the strikingly blonde boy stood by the cross-section between Smith Blvd., Vines Way, Torristown Avenue and Blessem Street, which was near most people's routes to school. Most of the students came from one of the four locations, and the school was on B Street across from the churches on Vines Way, overlooking its Catholic school rivals.

They weren't sure what he was doing there (by "he" meaning Dallas). They weren't even sure if he was a student or not! If he was, he would most likely be a senior this year, as a small stubble was just visible along his jaw. But no one was brave enough to approach and ask. You see, the thing about Dallas that hadn't changed was that he was a criminal. And the thing about criminals was, over the years new offenses and crimes kept getting thought of. Dallas still stole things, knocked out a couple of headlights here and there, rolled a couple of drunk guys and stole their senior class rings. But Dallas did other things, too. Things that made every younger or smaller-built boy who passed him break out into a run, and even the bigger guys who could probably take him break out into a cold sweat. Girls would skirt about him too for mildly similar reasons, but everyone still hoped the same; that the cops would bust him for loitering or prostitution and send him away for a few months. Every so often he was, so everyone got their peace. But the guys down at the station got bored with him after a while and just let him have his way. In the end no one was safe.

Back to Ponyboy, or Michael as he much rather be called, and how he felt a strange sensation this particular day. It could've been that the rain went later than usual for Autumn (that was the name of the town, though technically it _was_ autumn in Autumn) or the fact Dallas Winston was nowhere to be seen. People were still wary of where they stepped, as if he'd leap from the shadows at any given moment and attack. As Pony-Mike stepped over the threshold of the school and felt a shiver rack his body, he realized things weren't right. And he was absolutely correct; Dallas had shown up for school.

If anyone was more surprised than Pony-Mike that he was there, awaiting him in homeroom, it was the tow-headed boy himself. Dallas was unsure of why he made the decision, even less so now under the uncomfortable and skeptical stares of the student body and faculty. But he had had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he should go, maybe even start going on a mildly regular basis. There was a bright side, of course: free water and showers, and although the lunches could be pricey at times, he could always beat up someone smaller for theirs. He wasn't sure why he hadn't thought of this _before_.

The two of them were right to feel strange. Something big was about to happen that would change the two of them. Perhaps for the better. But then again, perhaps not.

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Guess who shows up in the second chapter? The second main character, that's who. 8D (My apologies for the short chapter. THey get longer from here, I promise.) 

Also: I love Two-Bit. I really do. But he and the rest of the characters won't fit in this story. This is for _the boys_ (meaning our two mains and our dearest Pony-Mike) to duke it out. XD


	2. Verse Two

:3 Johnny's a bit... uh... queer in this fic. No pun intended.

Awright. 3rd time's the charm, right? X3;; I never know what I want to say in the pre-notes section anymore... In terms of reviews: no Japanese; if in Spanish, stay simple; I don't mind one-liners as long as they take up the WHOLE LINE. Not counting chat-smiles. XD Anyway, I'm lenient with reviews despite my talk, so you won't get flamed, punished, or burned at the heading of the next update if you don't listen. o.o I always find that last one over-the-edge, even if they deserved it...

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**J**ohnny Cade was a dreamy sort of boy, wide-eyed and full of wonderment at the world. He certainly had the biggest eyes, black, shiny things full of curiosity that helped to make him look younger for his age. He wasn't as hardened as a lot of people by sixteen. Every event in his lifetime, even moving to a brand new place out of the blue as he had just done now, seemed to add to his understanding and want to get to know his world better. He was a hit with the girls; they cooed and fussed over him just as his mom surely did, yet he'd barely had a chance to say two words to any of them yet. Somehow, he was the same age as "Mike", aka Ponyboy, and he noted with dull disinterest that Johnny looked twelve and not sixteen.

What a newbie, MP thought with a bothered nod towards Bryon. Unfortunately, his friend hadn't caught his we-need-to-talk signal because, not surprisingly, he and his girlfriend had been making out where they sat across the room. It was a wonder the teacher hadn't broken them up yet, but maybe that was because there was no use; they'd be submerged again in no time.

MP shivered slightly, feeling the hard glare of Dallas Winston on his back. It sucked bad enough that he'd been held back and was in half of his classes, but the fact that he was showing an _interest_ - not in a friendly manner, mind you - in the new boy was enough to make MP want to gag.

Finally, the teacher was done telling Johnny a load about how friendly and wonderful and safe (here he heard even Dallas snort) their _lovely_ school was and had started telling Bryon and Cathy off. Johnny meanwhile made his way down the rows of desks before sitting beside MP, the first thing he said being, "So, we got a kid named Ponyboy in this class?"

Johnny had a soft voice, but Dallas managed to hear and was currently hooting and hollering, engrossed in a fit of raucous laughter. People turned to look, unaware of what had set him off. Johnny seemed not to notice, though, instead waiting for Mike (who was secretly said Ponyboy) to speak.

Pony-Mike cleared his throat, blushing over Dallas's laughter before murmuring so low only they could hear.

"Er... present. But it's Mike, okay? Watch it with the Ponyboy stuff. I have a reputation, you know."

Johnny looked confused, and just beneath his low-cut bangs Pony-Mike could see his eyebrows were knit together in a worried crease.

"But... that's your name, isn't it?"

MP rolled his eyes. Was the new kid really that naive? "Yeah, but _most_ kids don't know that." He paused, thinking. "And how do you, anyway?"

Johnny shrugged. "It was on the attendance sheet."

By this time Dallas was just barely beginning to reign himself in, the teacher having turned his back on the two lovebirds (who were, yet again, sucking face) to glare at him.

"Mr. Winston, just _what_ is so funny?"

Dallas gave a last hysteric snicker. "Ponyboy," he said. "Mike" visibly twitched.

-

In the late afternoon, as the busses were pulling away and the older kids were getting in their cars, Pony began the trudge homeward when a familiar, childish voice called out to him.

"Pon-I mean, Mike!"

He stifled an irritated grimace. He could have pretended to ignore it, since Johnny's voice was so soft, but the other boy came bounding up anyway, smiling as bright and cheerily as ever.

"Hey, Pony!" he gasped, being forgetful with his name again. "Why don't we walk home together?"

MP eyed him warily. "Sure," he mumbled. "Whatever."

For being so quiet during class, the kid sure could talk. It was probably the effect of holding it all in for so long. Mike could feel himself wince every time he called him "Ponyboy". Halfway through Johnny even forgot to keep adding a quick apology.

"Hey!" he said, suddenly. Pony ground his teeth; they were right outside his house.

"_What?_"

"Who's that crazy boy? The blonde one who was laughing at you?"

It was vague, but then Johnny didn't have to be specific; he didn't get laughed at by stupid blonde boys everyday. MP had a mild feeling that this was the reason Johnny had followed him home in the first place. Ignoring that it was a pretty stupid reason and a waste of his damn time, he replied, "You mean Dallas?"

"Was he held back?" Johnny plowed on. "He looks too old to be in our grade."

Pony's expression changed considerably. Perhaps it was out of pity, but then again, perhaps it was just exhaustion from the questionnaire.

"Look, kid," he sighed. "Don't you go near him. That Dallas Winston is trouble. He'll touch you."

Johnny frowned, caught off by the blunt warning. "Oh," he said, inaudibly. "I just thought he looked cool."

"And another thing." By now, Ponyboy had started the trek to his front door. Upon arriving, he turned to Johnny with a hooded glance.

"Enough with the Ponyboy stuff. It's _Mike_. Hell, even Michael's fine."

"But that's not your name," Johnny urged.

MP glared at him and said, haughtily, "It is, actually. I just prefer my middle name, is all."

Johnny wasn't defeated yet, though. "But there are millions of Johns and millions of Mikes, and as far as I know only one Ponyboy! Wouldn't you rather be one in a million?"

Mike - or Pony, whoever he was - glanced hesitantly at the door of his house, struggling with a choice; leave then and there, break off the conversation, or settle it.

"To be one in a million," he whispered, so that Johnny just barely caught it, "is exactly what I'm afraid of."

-

"Hi."

Dallas looked up from his lighter, switching it off as he took a puff from his cigarette.

"Um... hi."

He vaguely recognized the boy standing in the entrance of the alleyway - that was the new kid, right? Johnny something?

"You're Dally Winston, right? I'm Johnny Cade."

Dallas eyed him warily. "It's Dallas. And who wants to know?"

Johnny shrugged, ignoring the fact Dallas had just contradicted himself. "Why weren't you in school today?"

"Yeah well," Dallas sneered defensively, "why are you here? Shouldn't you be heading home to your mommy?"

Johnny stared on.

"Look, kid." Dallas straightened up, putting his cigarette out on the wall behind him. It hissed slightly as he ground it mercilessly into the brick. He imagined it was screaming. "You'd be better off staying away from me. I'm sure your golden boy Michael or whatever he's calling himself now, it's always something different with that kid..." He was getting off-track. "Well, he warned you about me, right?"

Johnny bored into him with his big, permanently started eyes, as if seeing through him. Maybe he was. "I don't believe you're really a bad person."

It wasn't a pity statement. It was a fact. Still, the boldness of his resilience caught Dallas off guard.

"Oh, really? You know the kind of stuff I usually do to kids like you?" He took a step away from the wall. Johnny didn't budge; to anyone else it would have been threatening. But, as far as Dallas could see, Johnny wasn't like anyone else. Maybe he even saw it as a challenge.

"No," he replied, truthfully. "I honestly don't. Not the full story, anyway. But I'll tell you what I do think; those are all rumors. People like to believe that homosexual equals pedophile, and you're just playing along for attention."

Dallas didn't object, but just stared at him, shocked. Nobody ever talked to him like that. Not his father as he cursed his existence through the slur of alcohol or the guys down at the station when they got him for any of his numerous crimes, and sure as hell not some squirt like this. He narrowed his eyes.

"Just who the hell do you think you are?"

To his surprise, instead of flinching or running, Johnny's shoulders relaxed, his smile oddly serene. Crooked, but upbeat all the same.

"Just an irritating new kid who asks too many questions, I reck'n."

Dallas scowled. _You got that right._

With a sigh, the eighteen-year-old settled back into his position against the brick, suddenly feeling tired and not up to a chase. He was in need of another cigarette, as he'd wasted the first and was now regretting it. As he lit another one up, he spoke.

"Well, it seems you got yourself pinned." He didn't even look at the kid, instead bringing the cancer-stick to his lips. "Why don't you take your friend's advice and buzz off already?"

Johnny grinned. "So we're friends?"

The tow-headed teen cussed, fumbling with his cigarette after accidentally burning his finger. This kid was just chock full of surprises. And he was really beginning to hate that.

"_No,_" Dallas spat, "I was talking about Ponyboy-Michael-Frieda-Jorge."

Johnny cocked his head to the side, brown eyes blazing.

"But Ponyboy didn't _advise_ me. He told me. You were the one who said I'd be 'better off'. _That_ is usually an indication of a request, not a command." He beamed, unfazed.

But as several silent seconds ticked by, Johnny was beginning to wonder if he was laying it on too thick. It was nearly four minutes since Dallas had said anything. Even after taking a long drag off of his smoke, he didn't seem to want to. Until finally, when he had lowered his voice to no more than a rough whisper, he growled in an animalistic way, "_You get outta' here._"

The point was taken. But even as little Johnny Cade rounded the corner and nearly sprinted home (school had ended ages ago, and his mother would be wondering why he hadn't gotten back from his walk yet) he couldn't help but remind himself that Dally hadn't actually said no.


	3. Verse Three

:3 Hello, all! I was going to submit this on Wednesday, but my laziness got the best of me...

I'm eternally grateful for your wonderful reviews! X'D Please help me see _How Lucky We Are_ all the way to the end!

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**D**allas scowled. "Didn't I tell you to leave me alone?"

"For the time being, yes, but you didn't say I couldn't come back." Johnny took a bite out of his sandwich, curling up on top of one of the many crates set out by the cafeteria to be picked up with the weekly trash. The smell of raw hotdogs stuck faintly to the old wood, making Dallas's stomach turn. Johnny, whether he noticed it or not, didn't seem bothered.

The brunette eyed the cigarette the older teen had in hand suspiciously, stating, "Should you be smoking on an empty stomach? Are you even old enough to _be_ smoking?"

"Eighteen and god-damn proud." Dallas's lip curled over his sharp-looking teeth. "And while I wouldn't advise it, in extreme situations like this, I rather smoke until my intestines implode than take my chances with the mystery-meat pizza."

Johnny took another bite, looking thoughtful as he chewed.

"Gross," he decided. "But the baloney's not bad. You want a taste?"

"Nup." Dallas closed his eyes, resting his head against the warm brick. The autumn sun beat down on his face, showing burnt orange behind his eyelids. He could just make out the silhouettes of pulsating veins. "Sides. I wouldn't want to eat after a shrimp like you. I might turn into a runt," he paused, considering, "like you."

Johnny nodded knowingly. "I see."

Dallas shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze. The kid was cute - he'd give him that. Could be the very reason he kept him around. He smirked, mostly to himself. It'd been a while since he got _that_ particular sort of action.

A raindrop interrupted his thoughts, shortly followed by a startled yelp. Johnny looked about saucer-eyed as the humidity turned to a biting wind and a plethora of water droplets began to spoil their lunch. After gathering his bearings, he gave an ecstatic giggle (yes, _giggle_. Dallas flinched).

"I know I've only been here a few days, but I don't think I'll ever get used to this weather."

Dally stood up, calmly taking it all in as he was soaked to the bone, the cigarette hanging from his lips beginning to fizzle. But then again, Johnny thought, he had a reason to be nonchalant. He probably went through this everyday, or at least something like it. The blonde boy gestured to him, beckoning him forward.

"C'mon." He paused to stretch, yawning in a suspiciously bored way. "Let's eat inside."

Johnny followed him obediently, sandwich forgotten and left to mildew.

-

Ponyboy Michael Curtis glanced about the cafeteria casually, making sure all was right in the world.

Bryon was just a chatter mouth today - by way of which he meant he was currently running his fingers through his girlfriend's hair, a sickening display of adoration on his face. The nerds were keeping to their respective tables, and the not-quite-dweebs-but-definitely-social-outcasts were laughing up a storm, making dirty jokes (even the girls! what was this world coming to?) and daring each other to eat odd mixtures of random foods. The preppies at the next table over were less than thrilled with their jubilance, giving them dirty looks and eating their normal food with disgruntled scowls. Yes, today all seemed to be in proper-

Mike could feel a shiver run down his back as liquid gray streaks began to pelt the large glass windows, the sky darkening and the cafeteria lights looking brighter by comparison.

But it wasn't the weather that brought forth such an ominous sense of foreboding, and sure enough, a few minutes later you-know-who burst through the double doors, followed by a slightly soggy but otherwise unharmed new kid.

The room fell silent, and even the undignified table seemed to sense a change in atmosphere, instead shifting about nervously and muttering amongst themselves about killjoys.

Dallas marched right up to one of the preppy boys, daring him to refuse as he put his cigarette (which had surprisingly survived the rain) out in his vanilla pudding, shocking the owner of the lunch and everyone close enough to see what he'd just done into an even greater stunned silence.

He then trotted to the back of the room, plopped himself down at an abandoned table, and looked disinterested as the cafeteria slowly sank back into an uneasy murmur of either confused or disapproving whispers. Johnny said something to Dallas, who nodded briefly, before nearly skipping up to the lunch line. Ponyboy got up after him, catching up to him just as he set an apple and three puddings onto his tray.

"I thought I told you to stay away from him?" he hissed. Johnny shrugged.

"Why should I take orders from you? We barely know each other." He moved up, digging in his pocket as the girl in front came up to the cashier. He had plenty of time to retrieve his money and new student ID, as she still seemed to be fishing in her purse. The cashier looked exasperated and thoroughly put-upon.

Pony scowled "Then how come you talked my ear off yesterday like we were old buddies?" Was it all to hear about that scumbag? was the unasked question.

Johnny handed his money and ID to the grateful cashier as the girl finally sashayed away. At least someone had the mind to get it all out in advance.

"Dally's a really cool guy when you get to know him."

Mike tried to talk him out of his seating arrangement and even invited him over (hey! it was for his own good), but Johnny would hear none of it.

Mike noticed, though, that on his way back to his and Dallas's table, Johnny dropped a fresh vanilla pudding off for the preppy whose the delinquent had ruined before. Despite himself, MP shook his head, smirking.

Johnny Cade, he thought, you are really something else.

-

Johnny was bug-eyed like a coyote staring down a hunk of raw meat. "So what'd you do then?"

Dallas grinned, feeling haughty. It was so easy to reel this kid in. "I slapped her like the bitch she is and said, 'Cunt! You better watch your mouth!' And she did, the little coward."

Dallas seemed to find this hilarious, slapping one knee at his own triumph, but Johnny only managed a few uneasy "heh"s. It'd been amusing for a the first few minutes to hear the intrusive details of the older boy's fight with his girlfriend, mostly because Johnny had never heard of such dysfunction before. But now...

If there was one thing Johnny Cade would never appreciate, it was the c-word.

Dallas eased up a bit once he recognized the look on the other boy's face. He'd seen that look many times since they started hanging out, and already he'd grown accustomed to it. It was one of utmost discomfort.

Dally had the oddest urge to take it back - to say it was just a macho story for their amusement. But Dallas, never being one for affection (or tact, for that matter) reached out to tousle Johnny's hair with a wry smirk.

"Chill, kid. If she had been hurt, she wouldn't have come back, crawling on all fours."

"Yeah," Johnny said miserably, "but it was only because you scared her into it."

Dallas pulled away, miffed that the kid was so bent on morals. This was his best stuff here!

"C'mon, kid! Ain't like I'm beating her or nothing."

"Maybe not physically, but you said some awful stuff, and that counts for verbal." He pointed out, "And you still slapped her."

Dallas rolled his eyes at the outright corniness of it all. Still, the skeptical behavior was becoming a bit of a ruse; all his bad-mouthing hadn't stunted his curiosity.

"So, whaddya propose I do?"

"Apologize." Johnny said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And to him it might have been. "Ridicule yourself, if you have to."

"Huh?" Dallas grunted, balancing a cig between his teeth in an uncivilized manner.

"Put yourself down. You know - you must see it in movies all the time! - 'baby, I was plain _dumb_.'"

The end of his whittled-down cigarette glowed red in the oncoming twilight. Dally squinted at Johnny's use of his deep imitation voice. "That supposed t'be me?"

"You get the idea," Johnny said with a sigh, and when Dally didn't say much else, went back to cloud-gazing.

After a long time Dally was still kind of quiet, yet there was turmoil behind those icy hard eyes; Johnny hoped for the best and that his speech had gotten to him.

"It's getting dark. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Dallas chuckled a bit as he watched the raven-haired kid leap down the street, thinking of his innocent advice. What would a kid like him know? He was probably - no, _definitely_ - a virgin anyway, and judging by that attitude and the kiddish looks he'd stay that way for a while, too. Dallas wasn't looking for a relationship in this girl. He never had been.

But despite the ribbing he gave Johnny for a while after, Dally actually tried out his words-of-wisdom the next time he saw her - and it _worked._ At least, in the sense Johnny had meant it to.

He felt like telling her she was a sucker and damn easy because it was obvious he was lying to her, and at the same time he wanted to tell Johnny he'd been right all along. But instead of doing any of that, he kept it between the three of them - her, him, and the bed. No, they didn't have sex, but they laid on it all the same almost all night at her place, her crying all over him. In short, she was moved; this was the first time Dally had a girl cry on him for a reason that wasn't his own stupid mouth. Or hands.

And he hadn't kicked her off in blind annoyance because he was wondering about that, too.

* * *

:'D Short chapter. The next one's very, very long. By my standards, anyway. Which aren't very high. Unless you want them to be.


	4. Verse Four

**W**hen Dallas walked in the beer bottle narrowly missed his skull, instead shattering on the wall where his face might have been a few minutes later.

"Hi, Dad," he greeted humorlessly.

The figure of the man was etched in a silhouette against the moonlight, frighteningly similar eyes locked firmly on Dallas's. They were glassy, but still retained the family - or, perhaps, character - resemblance of father and son. Hard. Icy. Blank.

Then he laughed, a low, mocking sound.

"Hey, boy." Dallas couldn't see it, but he could hear it; the smacking of a booze-warmed tongue on dry, cracked lips. "Y'get any 'profits' lately?"

Dallas rolled his eyes, figuring himself safe to do so in the darkness, but emptied his pockets none the less; lunch money Johnny had given him out of compassion, noticing Dally never seemed to have any of his own without stealing it. Dallas had pocketed it. And, yeah; a couple of loose dollars from that "profitable business" of theirs.

"Stripper money," his father uncouthly referred to the loose bills, blinking lazily as he counted through the piles of ones. "Don't hold back on me, boy."

"I ain't," Dallas hissed, though he was lying; he figured it wasn't a sin to keep a dime or three. He'd been the one to earn it. "This is all I got."

His dad pouted a bit in a way that suggested he was drunk, but not nearly so much as usual. Which was a relief to Dally. "Dallas, you ain't pretty no more." Then, meanly, "I guess even old guys can't stand when youse'all get hairy. You should prolly start shaving more often."

Dallas didn't need to think who he meant by "youse'all". He grit his teeth.

"Yeah?" he hissed. "Well maybe I don't feel like getting gussied up for some old, lecherous-"

Wrong thing to say.

Dallas swore, clutching his smarting jaw as he fell back against the wall. He heard the crunch of the bottle his father has thrown earlier, something wet trickling through his fingers. He hoped it was booze, but his father always made sure to suck a bottle dry. Suddenly there was weight on his head, the smell of alcohol in his face. He gasped as a hand yanked at his hair, pulling it up to force him to look into the sullied face of his very last family member.

"_Now you listen here,_" his father growled. "Autumn ain't exactly New York. What competition could you possibly have? Who're all the old homos who'd go after you so often bangin' now?" He tugged again, Dally just barely stifling a cry. "Get out there and do your damn job."

-

"What happened to your hand?"

Dally shrugged, trying to behave nonchalant. Johnny swung his schoolbag back and forth, wobbling every so often as he scaled the curb just separating the streets and his neighbors' flower buds. One wrong step, he'd be on the receiving end of glares from wheelchair-ridden old ladies for weeks. Or at least until Alzheimer's kicked in.

"Y'know. Opening a Coke. Dropped it. Cut my hand on it when I tried to clean it up." Damn. That sounded pathetic even to him.

Johnny scrunched up his nose. "You got the old-style Coke bottles? Like the ones made of glass? Blech. I prefer Pepsi."

They walked in silence a few moments longer, Johnny kicking up leaves. They fell, unharmed, to the pavement, where Dally would step on it and jump at the sudden sound of crackling beneath his boots. Brought back too many unpleasant memories. He mentally shook his head, attempting to rid all connections to the night before.

"So..." Johnny said slowly. Dally looked at him apprehensively. There was a suspicious note in his voice.

Whatever shyness the boy had melted away suddenly, perhaps at the realization he was far too quiet to gain any audibility.

"You goin' trick-or-treatin'?"

Dally looked at him, startled. Trick...?

"It's _Halloween?_"

Johnny laughed. "Yeah, like _tomorrow._ You mean, you didn't notice?"

He waved his hand across the scene laid out before them, and Dally found he was right; decorations in orange and black littered the numerous front lawns, already aging jack-o-lanterns grinning and moaning wickedly at by-passers. The street lamps were lined with Christmas-mimicking lights in autumnal, festive colors, blinking in tune to one another. The sheer thrill and fuss of it all didn't faze Dally in the least - he'd lived here most of his life, after all. Halloween, being the only holiday in the fall worth celebrating, had become an annual thing for the sake of the town's name. Now that he thought about it, Dally knew why he hadn't noticed the flashiness; he was used to it.

"_Well?_"

Dally looked taken aback, having not realized until now Johnny was talking to him. "Yeah?"

The boy bit his lip. And he had worded it so carefully, too! Ah, well. Time to take the plunge.

"Want to go trick-or-treating with me?"

The reaction was just as he expected. Dallas burst into hysteric laughter. Johnny's ears went red.

"You - still - you - want - _me?_" Dallas cackled, covering his eyes with his hand, the other clutching his side. Johnny frowned.

"Aw, c'mon, Dallas! I look young enough to still be going."

Dally steeled himself, laughter fading just as quickly as it came. With a nervous chuckle, he remembered how Johnny seemed embarrassed of his young appearance - it bothered him. So for Johnny to draw attention to it, even for a second...

"Oh, no!" Dallas put his hands up defensively, shaking his head vigorously. "Oh, _hell_ no! Don't you look at me like that! My-"

"I know, I know. Your idea of fun is bangin' broads and little boys. Oh, don't give me that look, it's _you_ who told me that anyway, at least eight times."

Dallas gave a disgruntled sigh, crossing his arms defiantly.

"But _Dally!_" Johnny leapt off the ledge in front of the older boy, grabbing his sleeve. "Puh-lee-ee-_ease?_ Free candy!"

Dallas continued to refuse. "No. I wouldn't be caught dead-"

"You know, Dally," Johnny said quietly, "I just moved here. I don't have any other _friends_ to go with." He turned away with a dramatic sigh. "I suppose I could go alone. By myself. Or I could ask Pony, but he'll prolly laugh in my face, _too_..."

He wasn't sure why, but Dally felt a pang of guilt just then. "Okay," he grumbled. "That last one was just unfair."

Johnny shrugged, but still didn't look at him.

"C'mon, Johnny! You don't gotta be like that!"

Still no answer; the younger boy had even begun to walk away, though albeit a little slow. Dally grit his teeth. "And what if I told you I would go?"

Johnny whipped around, not bothering to hide his excitement. "You'd make me the happiest boy in the world!"

Dally scowled, feeling a flush come on. Oh, lord. Just _lord_.

-

Johnny's mother was a real pretty woman, with the same friendly facial features and jet hair that had darkened impossibly rather than graying with old age. According to Johnny it'd been blonde once; Dallas didn't particularly believe that, but he _did_ notice that despite her similarities to her son, her eyes were completely the wrong color: china blue. Johnny must've gotten his eyes - his dark eyes, his laughing, sympathetic eyes - from his daddy, who was noticeably absent.

The Cades' place was smallish, but a perfect size for a family of two like them, possibly three if you counted the occasional guest. It was a pretty little Victorian, with a white picket fence, red shutters and thriving window boxes filled with well-kept flowers. It was just like every girl's dream house in the movies. It made Dallas want to gag kittens.

Dally looked Johnny up and down, his eyebrows raised in interest.

"And what, my good boy, are you supposed to be?"

Johnny's hair had been slicked back early sixties-style, but the rest of him wasn't that dressed up. White T-shirt. Sunglasses. Boots. The only other sign of being dressed up was the tight-rolled jeans.

Dally sighed. "C'mere."

The younger boy looked on in surprise as Dally began to remove his brown leather jacket. His felt his ears warm a bit as his shirt rode up his well-toned stomach, exposing the smooth lines of tasteful muscles for only a split second. But it was one of the most important seconds of Johnny Cade's life.

Dally raised an eyebrow in amusement at his bewildered expression but said nothing about it, motioning him forward. He slipped the jacket over Johnny's shoulders. Dally then stepped back to inspect him.

"Well?"

Dally smirked. "John Travolta's got nothing on you, kid."

Johnny smirked back, but his face fell a bit when he took the time to inspect Dally.

"Hey," he said suddenly, "What are you?"

Dally shrugged. "A bum."

"But those are the same clothes you wear everyday."

"Exactly."

They both cracked a grin at the dark humor. Johnny looked at him a few more seconds before a light seemed to flicker on behind his big, dark eyes.

"Stay here!" he said, patting his hands flamboyantly in mid-air before sprinting to one of the back rooms. Dally considered running out to save himself the humiliation yet to come, but humorously.

Less than a full minute later Johnny came back, a blatant grin on his face as he hid something behind his back. Dally narrowed his eyes at him. Was he crazy, or did he just see bright yellow? Johnny tried to look innocent - but because of what?

Finally deciding the suspense was killing him, Dally stepped forward, swatting behind Johnny's back to take whatever he had brought out. The smaller boy didn't protest, instead focusing on screwing up his face into an aloof expression. He failed, of course, especially once he caught the stunned look on Dally's face as he caught the mystery object.

It was a hat. A furry, yellow pimp hat. Dally stared at it, shocked.

"Johnny, I hate to ask - and I mean _really,_ I hate to ask - but why do you even own something like this?"

He grinned. "Crazy hat day! We used to have crazy hat day at this school I went to back in New Jersey."

Dallas turned the offensive headwear over in his hands. "If you think I'm wearing-"

"B-but Da-a-all-eeee..." Johnny stuck out his lower lip in a very fake but comical pout. Dally glared at him, but a smirk was wedging its way onto his pursed lips.

"How many other weird fetishes you got aside from screwing with me?" He weighed the huge hat in his hands, trying to decide if a lifetime of mockery was really worth Johnny's happiness.

One look at the boy answered his question.

"'Aight. I'll at least try it on..."

Right then Mrs. Cade entered with a wide grin on her lovely face. "You boys about ready? It's getting dark!"

Dally nearly melted into the floor from shame.

-

As it was every year, the weather on All Hallows Eve was bereft of any and all rain clouds. What Dallas had initially thought would be a long, painful and dragged out experience turned out to be shorter than he would have liked. He and Johnny chased a couple of slutty girls who made fun of their costumes (Johnny said this was okay, because those girls didn't respect themselves enough to deserve any from others) and people surprisingly didn't call the cops on Dallas when he showed up on their doorsteps with a malevolent grin on his face. Whether it be the shock and comedy of it all ("it all" meaning his hat) or maybe they thought he had taken Johnny hostage, said hostage remarked on never having gotten as much candy in his old neighborhood. He guessed it was the larger size. Dallas thought it was his criminal record.

Dally bit down into a candy apple, wincing slightly at the loud _crunch_ as he got it in at an odd angle. But god damn, he was hungry. He could tough it. Johnny nursed something red that mildly resembled a lollipop. Dally swallowed and looked away.

To his surprise, he was forced to look back when a weight pressed into his side and he found Johnny snuggled up to him.

"Thanks so much for tonight." Johnny looked at his candy bag, settled between his legs. "And I'm real sorry about the hat."

Dally shrugged, having gotten over it quite a while ago. "Hey, kid, no sweat." He flicked the brim with a coy smirk. "I might have to steal this from you. Looks real good on me."

"It does," Johnny laughed, and the topic was dropped.

Dally eyed him warily. "Izzere something else you wanted to talk about? You look real fidgety tonight."

"Mmm mmm," Johnny mumbled, which could have meant a number of things. He licked the end of his lollipop in a way that made Dallas shiver.

"Hey - you cold?"

"Y-yeah," the eighteen-year-old murmured. "But don't think you're off the hook yet, kid. I know that look - you got something on your mind."

"Well, if you _insist..._" He looked at Dally eagerly.

"Dally, you get along with your old man?"

He blinked. "Fucking hell no." Which was worse than plain hell no.

Johnny looked like a deer in the headlights. "Well, um, okay, but you ever think that's better than not havin' one at all?"

"I'm not following," Dallas said dryly.

"You know! There are people out there who don't got dads, who..."

Johnny hadn't trailed off - he'd stopped, and rather abruptly at that. It took Dally a second or two to realize he was staring over at the old lot's entrance. Dally looked, too, and immediately regretted it.

One figure was tall and stocky, with dark hair and the appearance of a Saint Bernard puppy - he walked like one, too, loping around the way he did, but it was the smaller of the two that pissed Dallas off - an average-height, slender boy Johnny's age and size except with a better build. But this kid was no naiveté. His greenish-gray eyes considered Dallas with a mixture of annoyance and authority - he was the better man. They both knew it.

"Hey, Bryon!" Johnny greeted the one Dallas only mildly recognized. "Whatcha doing here, Pony?"

The reddish-brunette shrugged, holding up a demonic-looking mask that until then had been hanging uselessly at his side. Bryon did the same.

"Oh, you know. Egging people and cars. Scaring the shit out of little kids. That kind of thing."

"And taking their kind 'donations'," Bryon added innocently, but with a smug grin showing them a pillowcase of pillaged candy.

Pony's face remained calm and indifferent to Dallas's attempts to melt his mind - and sat right beside Johnny to the right. Bryon hesitated before sidling down beside Dallas.

"Nice hat!" he snickered. Dallas grumbled something incoherent before shoving it on Johnny's head. The boy didn't move, remaining still and seemingly mulling something over. He had probably been trying to say something important, too. Dally reminded himself to grill him later.

"So, Bryon," Johnny began, trying to make conversation, "where's your girlfriend?"

Bryon sighed dramatically. "Busy," he answered curtly. "Apparently her siblings just _had_ to trick-or-treating on the other side of town, and she _had_ to be the one to take them..."

He wasn't being spiteful. Not towards her, at least. He was just telling the truth and feeling down about it. Pony flicked a hard mint at his head affectionately. Bryon leaned over and smacked him across the skull for it but ate the damn thing anyway.

Dally stared into the darkness, his mind beginning to wander. He noticed Bryon hadn't minded when Johnny addressed "Mike" as Pony, so he must be one of the few people who knew. He bit forcefully into a chocolate bar, scattering his thoughts. He'd never been the sort for people-watching.

"What're you doing out here anyway, Pony? Thought you said you weren't going out tonight."

So he had asked Pony out, after all. The addressed glanced warily across Dallas to the fourth party.

"My good buddy Bryon here came blubbering to me about his girl being off and him not having anything to do and being _real_ lonely, so I brought him out here to cheer him up." He rolled his eyes. "Cathy's got a lot of siblings, so the idea of getting revenge on these kids got him giggling like a schoolgirl."

"Yup!" Bryon said, unscathed. "So here he is."

They hung together a while longer, Pony not taking as much of Johnny's attention as Dallas thought he would. They were both kind of quiet. Bryon did most of the talking, and either Dally or Pony would throw in a word or four now-and-again to reward his efforts at a pleasant conversation: _shut the hell up._

Finally the two departed, Bryon in high spirits despite the frosty conduct and Pony looking as if everything bored him - as per usual. Dally figured it was teen angst, and minus from the hand-me-downs and good will wardrobe, he guessed Pony looked a bit like he did back then. He felt old thinking about it, and he and Johnny walked home together in comfortable silence.

They stopped outside Johnny's house by the white picket fence, and Dally wondered mildly what he was doing here - he didn't belong, with these people, on this side of Autumn. But he still didn't want to leave. Home was the last place he wanted to be.

So he gave Johnny his bag of candy - yes, keep it, no I don't want the damn hat - and still never moved a leg muscle. Johnny stood close to him, as if he wanted something but was afraid to ask for it. He stood close; unnaturally close. Dally decided to indulge him, brushing strands of hair that had come un-gelled away and kissing his forehead softly. He felt the boy heat up in pleasant shock, and though his hands were occupied by a ridiculous hat and two full pillowcases of candy, Dally had a feeling he wouldn't push him away even if they weren't.

When he finished Johnny looked at him adoringly, thanked him for the wonderful night, and nearly tripped over his gate while turning away.

"Come back anytime, Dally!" he called out before dashing inside. The older watched, mildly amused, before turning away and walking down the street. Alone.

-

A flurry of glass and shouting, lights illuminating the streets as neighbors awoke to find what all the ruckus was about. Cussing, a cry, but no one called the cops, only threatened. If you were to ask witnesses, they'd have only caught a few words:

_worthless shit... _

skipped out...work...

can't...do anything right?! 

The cold air woke Dally up, and he found himself sprinting down the street as fast as his legs could carry him. It was as if he was on autopilot, diving over fences and rounding alleys until he came into the nice part of town, the part where the street lamps weren't all broken and the bars weren't all lined up beside dirty Laundromats.

He finally came to a halt outside Johnny's place, his face cut up and bleeding and a dry pain in his throat. Not from crying, not about to or past; he had been in a dead sprint all this way.

Mrs. Cade found him on the porch step, huddled in a ball, his face in his hands. She let him in without a moment's thought or hesitation.

"There, there, dear," she said in her sweet voice, trying to calm him. "We've all been down that road, haven't we?"

And that was how the dream house became a house for three.

* * *

**Stripper money** is slang for **loose dollar bills**, usually ones. **Dallas is NOT a stripper.**

Now that that's cleared up, I originally planned to submit this before/on Halloween. But, oh, you know. It is pretty damn long. I think I have carpal tunnel...


	5. Verse Five

**"Y**ou mind telling me what happened, or don't you want to talk about it?"

"Guess you wouldn't believe I fell, huh?" Dallas muttered. She dabbed his split lip with a cloth.

"Dallas, honey, you can tell me not to call DYFUS or the authorities, and I swear to you I won't - unless you want me to, of course - but I rather you tell me nothing than lie to my face about being fine." He found her angry expression to be somewhat of a shock.

"Thanks," he said, softly. She seemed to see what a big deal this was and gave him one of those nice smiles Johnny was always wearing.

The aforementioned boy leapt into the kitchen, clad in a T-shirt and flannel pants, face pale.

"What's all the commotion?" he demanded. "I was in the bathroom, but I swear to God I heard Dally's voice!"

"Nice to know you can't get me out of your mind," he said dryly. Johnny sucked in a loud gasp.

"Dally, what-" but he caught his mother's look and fell silent.

She sat Dallas at the kitchen table. "Nice of you to come, baby." She nodded at him to stay put when, in a last attempt to look macho, he tried to get up and dissent illness. She made him sit again. "Just in time, too. Wanted to know if you'd let him stay in your bed or not."

Dally's mouth fell open. He quickly protested, "This ain't my place. I wouldn't want you to take the couch 'cause of me." He never said anything about leaving, though. He'd rather sleep on the floor than go home.

"Who said I was taking the couch?"

It took Dally a full four minutes to process just what that meant.

Oh - _oh!_ "You mean you wanna _share?_"

"Yeah, sure," Johnny said with a shrug, though Dally could see the innards of his sixteen-year-old mind at work. "I've shared a bed with cousins when they came to visit. Why're you any different?"

Yeah, real nice question to ask in front of Mommy, make her take back her offer. But she didn't.

"Why, Dallas," she chimed, "what _is_ wrong with all that? You've had to share with relatives before, right? This isn't different. I'm not worried about that nonsense they talk about all the time nowadays because you're a sweet boy."

That was a long shot. He may be an "abuse" victim, but that sure as hell didn't mean he looked like some kicked puppy. Dallas was eighteen, for Cripe's sakes - he'd been shaving since thirteen, smoking since fourteen and drinking since sixteen. Not to mention he was having some pretty happy visions of sharing Johnny-boy's bed. And not ha ha happy. You know the kind.

"Naw, it's fine," he muttered, the wheels of his brain clanking like mad. How much about him had Johnny explained to his mother? Sure didn't seem like a whole lot.

Mrs. Cade carefully replaced the bandage on Dally's hand. "Then it's settled! Dally will stay with you in your bed. No funny business, now," she added, playfully. He felt as if he'd been smacked upside the head with a wrench.

Mrs. Cade finished tended to Dally's wounds, only whipping out the Neosporin for a particularly nasty cut (that wasn't long so much as deep) over his left eye. She looked at him not imploringly but sadly, and he felt obliged to explain. "Beer bottle," Dally said quietly. She nodded. "They seem to like to use those," she replied, and they let it drop.

Somehow, Dally found himself sitting on the end of Johnny's bed. He stared straight ahead, wondering not for the first time what the hell he was doing there.

"Don't got any bed clothes," Dallas said breezily. Johnny exited the bathroom and sat down beside him, shrugging.

"So? You can sleep in those if you want."

Dallas glanced at himself. "Jeans?"

He smiled a bit too vivaciously, Dallas thought. "Boxers, then?"

Dally didn't care about the kid watching him as he yanked it all off until he was down to boxers - and a shirt. (Puberty; he didn't want to tempt Johnny more than he already had.)

They settled down beneath the covers, Johnny switching off the light on his bedside dresser. The room fell deathly quiet, aside from the occasional rustle and Johnny's tossing and turning. Even if he was having nightmares, that moan just then had gotten Dallas sorely tempted.

Don't touch him, Dally thought. You've just decided you like Mrs. Cade as a mother-type, and the kid; boy, you like the kid. You want to keep him around, right? Don't ruin it.

However, in the heat of sleep Johnny flopped over, embracing Dally from behind. The older boy swallowed, begging himself not to notice the fragile arms wrapped about his waist, the face buried between his shoulders and the light, tranquil breathing...

He rolled over to take Johnny into his arms, deciding it wouldn't hurt as long as he hadn't been the one to engage it. The boy's eyelids twitched but they didn't open, and he spent the rest of the night without tossing or turning.

-

Dally awoke, feeling groggy and sorely missing the warmth that had spent the night beside him. He guessed Johnny had been too mortified to confront him about it, sneaking away instead. He shrugged it off.

After throwing on some new clothes (they looked just as beat up as they had yesterday), Dally stumbled into the kitchen with a disgruntled yawn. The time was ten in the afternoon; he almost considered feeling alarmed until he caught the note on the table.

_Dally, _

Johnny went to school a while ago and I'm just getting ready to leave for work. We didn't want to wake you, and I figured you could use a day off after such a tough night anyway. Please take it easy. My cell phone number's below if you need me. S. Cade 

She looped her 'S's rather enthusiastically, Dally noted without real interest. "S. Cade" wasn't all that was written there. It looked as if she'd signed her first name as well, but he couldn't make the other letters out. Sinly? Hell no. Sindy, maybe. The point was she'd said to take it easy, but it wasn't as if he was sick and wasn't all that sore. Hurt mentally, maybe, but that was a whole 'nother kettle of fish.

He dug through the fridge, devouring an English muffin uncooked and drinking half the remaining orange juice cart in one gulp. On the second he put it back, empty.

Dallas left, not bothering to leave a note behind. He figured he'd be back before them and didn't want to look for paper, anyway.

-

Twilight. Sheets of rain cascaded gracefully in and out of the purplish light, casting hues and all that prettily described jazz along the undeserving and crumbling architecture that was Autumn in its least fine.

He didn't have to do this anymore, especially not in this weather, at this early time. He could turn away now and forget this crap, return to Johnny and Mrs. Cade, however something in his gut made him think he might go back home, to his "real" home. If you could call it that. He already had visited the house, but since his father wasn't there, he retrieved some clothes and a pair of pants for sleeping in for next time. He hadn't wanted to go back and actually found himself strangely excited when he found himself alone, no enemies to speak of. But in the case he did, which would come as it always did in a mixture of time, guilt, and his own liquor problems, he'd need a peace offering.

A man was heading towards him, ducking beneath someone's aged and forgotten laundry that hung from a sagging wire above the alley's entrance. Autumn was relatively large, for an unheard of sorta' town, but he could tell just by glancing that this man was foreign to these parts. His hair was an odd color, making Dallas wonder if it was natural or not; a dark, almost black red, like cherry pop. His eyes were the color of a Hershey bar but not quite as welcoming; they stared dead-like at Dallas, their expression hidden. They gave the impression of someone looking at another through a two-way mirror. He shivered at the stranger's arrival, but comprehended what he desired anyway.

"So, then - you want the standard suck-and-fuck, or are you a cop?" In Dallas's business it was usually unwise to speak first, but this man was giving him the chills. Not the cop or the creepy sort of chills, which he came across often in this profession. Just chills.

The man's impression didn't change, yet a motion not so much within as behind his eyes gave Dallas the impression he was laughing.

"The first sounds good, though if you don't mind I'd like to be the one fucking."

"Of course," Dallas replied breezily, despite the fact his heart was hammering in his chest. "Let's get a move-on, then."

He found himself sipping wine in a rather nice apartment he figured the man had borrowed from a friend (unwilling to admit he may be wrong about his tourist assumption, but then how would he know where to find people of Dallas's "profession" in this town?), and wishing anyone else would've picked him up. Foreplay made him feel like a woman, and he had long ago decided the guys who chose this over just fucking and leaving could just go to hell. And to tell the honest truth, the man made him more unnaturally uncomfortable than most. He reminded him, in short, of his childhood - the long rides to obscure cities with his father and what little they had between them. While being brutally enriching, however, it hadn't been a cozy experience.

And the meetings; the men with rough-skinned and ginger hands, the fingers that sifted through his hair and the odd-tasting lips that kissed him until, as a kid, a stupid and innocent kid, he had smiled and laughed. It was less than so now.

Speaking of now, now he was tipsy. He could drink a whole bottle of bourbon and feel good enough to drive, but red wine always made him painfully nostalgic.

The mysterious man now finished taking his damn time pouring himself some liquor and made his way over to Dallas, sitting on the couch beside him. The teen swung his legs over his lap and an arm about his neck without permission, downing the rest of his drink.

"Let's get this over-"

The man put two fingers to his lips. Dally shivered at the coldness of his skin as the opposite hand scaled his hip, slipping beneath the shirt to touch more bare skin.

"We could, except you have something on your mind."

Once again, Dallas felt the mocking, the smirk. He just couldn't see it.

"And what's it to you, if some prostitute you hire is distressed?" The words tumbled from his mouth without him meaning them to. It sounded weird when said out loud. Prostitute. He'd never denied it. But no one'd actually said it to his face, either.

The man blinked at him. "I want my full money's worth. I don't care too much for when my partner's distracted in the heart of sex."

The way he said it, Dallas could have laughed. The face with which he said it shook off the notion.

Normally, he wouldn't confide in a client - especially not if said client was this damn _unnerving_. He wanted to beg him to screw up or smile, but that might be more frightening than his permanent solemnity. Anyway, in this current situation, he was feeling a little desperate - and he'd never see the man again, right?

"A..." Oh, lord. The first rut. "A _friend_ of mine recently asked me a question about fathers. He wanted to know if it was worth just having one, even if he did..." His voice trailed off.

The mysterious man took Dally's bandaged hand, kissing it boldly. "This?"

"Yeah," he said quickly, suddenly feeling nervous. "I know what he's getting at, but I don't know how to answer him."

The man slipped his hands further up his sides and Dallas gasped, unable to control himself. Amazing how such cold fingers could leave such a trail of fire.

"And not only did he make this," the man said, gesturing to a cropping of bruises, "but he makes you do _this-_" oh, god, his teeth were cold too as they sunk into the warm flesh where Dallas's shoulder met his neck, "-that you find it so hard to relate with such a situation."

"H-h... how'd you know?"

The man didn't seem to hear him, fumbling with his clothes and sucking on any bare skin he could find. Dallas figured he must be done giving out charity, however sparingly, so joined in. He didn't even think about it all again until they made their way to the man's bed, the covers overturned, their hair riled, and the smell of sex hanging in a sultry cloud all about them. It was then that Dally looked out the window and swore - the rain had stopped, and it was almost pitch black outside.

"Go to him," the man murmured, without opening his eyes or turning to face him. "Money's on the counter."

"Thanks-" Suddenly, Dally realized he didn't know his client's name, which wasn't all that uncommon. But in this case, he wanted to know. "What do I call you?"

But the man had fallen into another one of his bouts of silence. Perhaps, for that moment, he was deaf. It was an odd thought and probably a product of the wine.

Dallas worked quickly and quietly, pulling on his clothes. He stopped, halfway stuffing his pockets with the money, halfway out the door when he noticed the amount of motorcycle memorabilia the man owned. He thought of a name to call him by, if they ever saw one another again, though they probably wouldn't.

He left, mouthing the name, testing it on his tongue.

-

It was relatively dark when he got back, though it may have just been the product of an upcoming winter and daylight savings. Still, the legitimate time didn't matter; Dally had a feeling he should have come back before dark. With baited breath, he entered the Cade household.

Almost as soon as he opened the door, Johnny flung himself into Dally's arms, eyes squeezed shut.

"Where were you," he began to ask when he suddenly pulled off, and his mother stepped into the room, clad in robe. Was it that late? Dally fidgeted.

"I'm sorry," he said, softly. Johnny stood beside him flinchingly but refusing to back down.

Finally, she sighed.

"Please, just make it home earlier next time. Or at least leave a note?"

"I couldn't find any paper," Dally admitted sheepishly.

Johnny laughed. "You could've just written on the back of ours."

Dally looked genuinely surprised. Actually, he hadn't thought of that. It must've shown because Mrs. Cade smiled warmly at him.

"Come on," she said casually, wandering away. "Dinner's getting cold."

Dally followed, Johnny close at his side. No screaming? No throwing things, punches included? Speaking of which, no physical fighting period?

He could get used to this good family stuff.

* * *

Did you catch who the guest star of this chapter was? If you've read Hinton's other novels, you damn well should have. I-I mean, it was the Motorcycle Boy, from Rumble Fish. X'D

Anyway, characters from the original Outsiders and other Hinton books will be referred to and guest-starring, if only briefly, in chapters to come. You have to pick up on them, though. I'm not telling who they are, except Bryon and Cathy (That Was Then, This Is Now), and maybe two others...


	6. Verse Six

I originally wrote the first chunk of this chapter to be used... two chapters ago? The Halloween one. Anyway, I decided to cut it out and use it later. If I hadn't, _One Hallova Plot Point_ wouldn't have ended the way I wanted it to.

Oh, and another thing; I love the movie _Remember the Titans_. Don't listen to that Dally. X3

* * *

**"W**orst damn movie they've ever had the nerve to show in class - I should know. I've sat through at least _three_ sessions of _Remember the Titans_." Dallas rolled his eyes. "Talk about bad film quality, a Disney at that. I mean, they usually _are_, especially ones that old, but you'd think they'd have some extra dough to spread around..."

Johnny would've made a good shrink, the way he would nod and say "mm hmm" or "I see" every once-in-a-while. Then again, maybe he was listening; It would seem like it, since part way into Dallas's rant he frowned in disagreement, rooting through his locker as he did so. Dally had inadvertently followed him there, not planning to get his own things. He was a born moocher.

"I don't think it was queer - I kind of liked how they stuck out for each other like that, like a real family."

Dallas rolled his eyes. "Yeah, if you really' go for that brotherly love crap... But just ask any other guy here, I swear, they'll tell you it's gay. Like..."

Dallas paused, glancing around the hall. He spotted a tough-looking, black-haired kid, the kind who probably thought with his fists. He smirked; perfect.

"Mm... that kid!"

Johnny paled. "That kid?"

"Yeah, Johnnycake!" He slapped him on the back. "Go get 'im, Tiger!"

Johnny began to protest and was roughly shoved at the wiry-headed boy. He looked over his shoulder, looking like a deer in the headlights.

"But _Dally!_" he pleaded, still out of the target's earshot. "We'll be late to class!"

Dallas rolled his eyes, again. "You can't be late to study hall, dork! Now just go ask him. Stop acting like I asked you to eat a pig's testicles."

Johnny's face contorted in a sick expression of the conjured image.

"He's getting away - now _go!_"

Dallas gave him another shove, this time almost causing Johnny to smack right into the beastly boy. He turned to glare at the disturbance, who went white-faced before locking his eyes on the floor and mumbling something Dally couldn't make out. The future convict laughed, walking away.

Suddenly concerned, Dally made his way over.

"What happened?" he hissed. "What did he do that for? What did _you_-?"

He stopped, realizing Johnny was still staring at the floor. A sympathetic grin began to play across his face.

"Aw, kid!" he laughed, ruffling Johnny's hair. "Why didn't you tell me you was shy?"

His blush had gone down some as Dally led him down the hall, but he refused to watch anything but his feet.

Dally leaned in with a wry smirk.

"Izzerre something real interesting down there?"

Johnny shook his head.

"I thought you'd know," he grumbled miserably. Dally knew what he meant.

"Well, shoot, kid!" He patted him on the shoulder, laughing good-humoredly. "I've only ever seen you with Pony 'an me, so-"

But wait. Just him and Pony. Come to think, Johnny didn't even talk in class, let alone...

Dally groaned. "Shit," he said. "I'm sorry."

He wasn't sure why, though. It wasn't all that big of a deal. But the forgiving smile Johnny gave him just then made him think it might've.

-

"Pony boy, pony boy, won't you be my pony boy? Giddyap giddyap giddyap whoooah, my po-ny boy..."

Mike came to a complete halt. Resistance was futile; Bryon was singing Bruce Springsteen tunes, a traditional southern lullaby at that. He was in "that mood".

"Ride with me, ride with me..."

Bryon's voice trailed off as he hooked an arm around Mikeyboy's neck, sighing blissfully. His friend fixated him with a single green eye. Bryon scowled.

"Don't give me that evil look!" he whined. "I'm having-"

"A bad day, I know," Pony finished brusquely. "It'd just be nice if everyone stopped calling me by my... _birth_ name in public."

Bryon fluttered his eyelashes. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"

Thank God for Bryon being one of those guys who could prance around in a tutu with a fairy wand and still be the epitome of masculinity. Pony, however, wasn't, which put his reputation in danger. God knows how concerned about that he was - as anyone named Ponyboy should.

"Alright." Pony ducked under Bryon's arm. "So what's going on with you and Cathy that's making you so damn clingy?" Then, in hushed (but no more gentler) tones, "Did the 'movie theatre guy' rear his ugly head again?"

Bryon fidgeted before sighing long and hard.

"Can we skip? This is a story that's both too long for the hallway and too important to wait for lunch." He paused. "Though now that I think about it, this is the period you obsessively spy on lovebirds numero tres y cuatro."

He meant Dally and Johnny, of course. Numero uno y dos had been him and Cathy, though number didn't necessarily mark priority. Expiration date, maybe.

Pony shrugged. "Heck. You're more important just because you'll bother me more about whatever's got your panties in a bunch." He narrowed his eyes. "And I am not obsessive."

Bryon grinned in a gooey manner. "You called me important - dreams really do come true!"

He yanked his head out of the clouds soon enough to realize PonyMike was walking away.

"I'll leave you, I swear to God I will."

Bryon was after him like a Star Trek junkie on a UFO.

-

Dally slumped against the doorframe, yawning. It had been a particularly long yet painfully uneventful day. People had stared at him and his multitude of bruises and wondered about the way he and Johnny walked side by side when, in contrast, they were so different.

But that was the beauty of it; everyone should've realized it was a cliché well known.

He felt hands on his back, pushing him.

"Dall-_ee_," Johnny griped, "move!"

Dally gave a fake sigh, examining his nails before finally letting him through. Johnny tried to scowl at him, but instead his lips tugged upward in the corners. Dally's did, as well.

They sat side by side on the sofa, not really watching the TV (which would be fruitless, considering it was turned off) but not talking, either. Just sitting, enjoying each other's company and the presence of Dally's arm hanging around the back of the sofa, framing Johnny's shoulders.

Johnny was considered an innocent kid in most peoples' eyes, but the truth was he was still sixteen and still a boy. And with Dally this close, his breathing seemed to thunder in his ears, significant to him but soft in reality.

He was thinking about the kiss on Halloween.

It was only a few days later he knew, but Dally still hadn't said much about it, neither denying nor enforcing some sort of motive behind it. In leaving it open, the possibilities were endless and driving Johnny mad; Indulgence? Kicks? He had been asking for it, after all.

But not on the _forehead!_

Absently, he leaned into Dally's side (not noticing but definitely caring if this was companionship or romanticized) and began to stroke the opposite side of Dally's head. First hesitantly, then more boldly, fingers sifting through the naturally whitish hair.

His fingers brushed the older boy's ear and he let out a soft grunt, only whispery. A moan?

"Don't..." he mumbled, looking off to the side. If Johnny didn't know any better, he'd say he was blushing.

Cocking his head to the side, he replied, "You mean... like this?" He brushed his thumb against Dally's earlobe, watching him close his eyes and listening for the soft hum that emanated from his throat.

Dally wasn't uncomfortable with the idea of his ears being rubbed - come to think, hadn't it been that busty blonde number he'd done a while ago to tell him? _All the pleasure centers in the brain are accessible through the ears._ Or something like that. He was just uncomfortable with the fact it was Johnny, though Dallas wasn't sure why - it felt good, the kid was cute, and they were alone. Heaven.

And now Heaven was falling.

He started at the sensation of being tugged down. He blushed uncharacteristically, making the glare he shot Johnny all the weaker.

"What the heck-?"

"I just want to see something!" Johnny said hastily. "Please? You'll enjoy it!"

Enjoying it wasn't the problem, though he seemed rather eager to perform his experiment; whatever it was. Dally decided to oblige, since his head was now resting comfortably in the crook of Johnny's lap.

Hands trailed everywhere along his face, from caressing his temples to slipping beneath strands of hair. The movements were fluent and overall relaxing, causing the lids of Dally's ice-blue eyes to gain weight and droop.

There was hot breath on Dally's face, even with his own. Fingers brushed his lips and he opened his eyes, finding Johnny gazing shyly at him. A curtain of emotion moved behind those deep, black orbs, where one could barely tell the pupil from the iris. Yet there was a calm, too.

Dally tilted his chin and they kissed; they kissed until their heads swam and they needed oxygen, parting briefly only to kiss again. And again.

Johnny's back had to be aching from leaning over like that, but he didn't seem to mind.

The world swam in and out of focus, spiraling all the while, the sound of Beatles' music and gravel shifting in the driveway faintly flooding the room...

Holy hell.

Johnny quickly sat up, Dallas jumping off and settling in a relaxed position beside him on the couch. Johnny flipped on the TV and proceeded to calmly flip through the channels, Dally chewing his nails with a faux expression of boredom.

They heard her car pull into the garage, the kitchen door opening followed by a small uttered curse as she went back out to close up the garage door. When she finally made her way in, they were fully composed.

Mrs. Cade set her keys on the table, looking at them quizzically. "Hey, boys."

Johnny beamed. Dally thought he could hear his heart beat, whether from shock of the early arrival or elation at being kissed he wasn't sure.

"Hi, mom," he said, voice even. Dally managed a nonchalant wave. It came across lazy.

Mrs. Cade was smirking to herself, expression guarded except for the slight twitching at the corners of her lips. For a second, Dally panicked she had caught them. Somehow.

Johnny cocked an eyebrow, setting the remote down. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing!" She let herself laugh. "It's just that Mason McCormick..."

She told them about how one of her co-workers had gotten his sleeve caught in the paper-shredder trying to impress the new female intern.

"So much for _that,_" she laughed, heading into the kitchen. "Any dinner preferences?"

They ended up agreeing on Chinese.

When she was safely out of earshot, Dally released a harbored sigh. "Johnny, you realize how lucky you are to have a mother like that?"

Johnny fixed him with a smile.

"You mean," he corrected, "how lucky _we_ are."

-

"I'm breaking up with you."

She was normally submissive, quiet. He expected her to cry, but he must have rubbed off on her some for her to do what she did next.

She slapped him, shocking the hell out of him and several bystanders. After it was clear Dallas wouldn't hit her or cause a scene, a few brave souls snickered.

She glared at him, and to this day he couldn't remember her name. It was funny; she had been the only one to stand up to him like that.

"You think you're tough shit, huh, Dallas?" she spat.

He watched her, still shocked and yet not angry or even regretful, as she sashayed away. There was irritation as well as a lack of confidence laced within each stride.

* * *

The song **"Pony boy"** is one of the hokiest pokiest out there (from Bruce Springsteen's "Human Touch" album), and only once you hear it will you get what I mean. I always thought that was where Hinton got the name, but then my mother said it may have actually been a "traditional southern lullaby" - so I have no clue whether it was by Springsteen, inspired by Hinton, sung by women across America - all I know is my parents sung it to my little brother before I could even read. 


	7. Verse Seven

The place described in this chapter is real. I changed the name and a bit of the geography, though...

* * *

**W**hen Dallas entered the house he was met by a long, deplorable moan.

"But _Mom_ - you promised!"

"I know, baby, but I have to work."

Dallas, feeling a bit nosy, stood by the kitchen door and listened in. The weight of the new pack of Kools in his pocket distracted him slightly. But the need for a smoke could wait; he had a feeling eavesdropping might help him to get a few things figured out.

"It's not _that_," Johnny said acridly. "I know you do. I just meant you promised _he_-"

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, _he_ is still on the Eastern coast. I'm sorry to have promised you while we were moving - I forgot."

"Did he at least call?"

Dally could see the baffled expression on her face briefly before she moved out of his range of sight, replying, "Call? What for?"

"To apologize, in the l-"

They instantly fell silent as the third party trotted in, looking between the two with a look of bemusement.

I step out for smokes one minute, and the next a family crisis is underway? Dallas thought. Then, the obstinate, And just who is "he"?

"You kids fight'n?" he asked dryly. That's just how they were looking at him now, though; like a couple of kids who went and broke a neighbor's window playing ball.

"Not fighting, really," Johnny said, in a very guilty voice. "Just..."

"Having a disagreement," Mrs. Cade finished hurriedly. "He wants to go down to Iopyle, but Lord knows I won't be able to take him. Flaking at the last second - I swear, that's so like So-"

"How far is it?" Dally piped up. "I could take him over Thanksgiving break, if you want."

Johnny was looking at him like he was a god, and Mrs. Cade might've seemed almost mad if it hadn't been for the sheer outrageous statement.

"It's quite a ways up - you sure you'll be able to make the trip?"

"I've driven longer distances," he said casually. He hoped she wouldn't draw attention to the fact she hadn't told him how far it was yet. "Relax, I've had my license f-"

"You're wonderful!" Johnny burst. With a flourish, he pulled him into an embrace. Dally blushed excessively, laughing it off. There was no prettier a picture; Mrs. Cade looked between the two, smiling fondly to herself. Her boys.

"Fine," she decided without much of a fight. "Dallas, I'll give you directions." She paused. "How will you get there? Do you have a car?"

"What about yours, Mom?" Johnny inquired. "Or do you need that for work?"

Dally shrugged. "I'll get my hands on a car. No problem."

They both peered at him. The intensity of their stares caused him to shift from foot to foot, suddenly self-conscious.

"What?" he asked, swallowing. "What's wrong with that? Look, I got a buddy who owes me one-"

"Oh," they sighed, simultaneously. He realized, with a start, they had expected him to acquire it by criminal standards.

How was he supposed to react to that?

"Anyway," Johnny said brusquely, breaking the awkward silence. "Mom - those directions...?"

"Oh - right," she tittered apologetically, ushering Dally over.

"The place is called Iopyle - weird name, I know - it's spelled like this, yatta yatta yatta..."

She recited a complicated list of directions Dallas found surprisingly much easier to understand after he read them over on paper.

"...You might want to leave on Thanksgiving day to beat pre/post traffic..."

Dally looked at her, eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

"What? Aren't we doing anything for Thanksgiving? Dinner?"

"Work," she confessed. "Which is why I had them plan this. I figured Johnny might as well have some sort of treat. Which reminds me..."

She grinned. "You're a life saver."

Dally flushed, again. "Yeah? You think?"

Mrs. Cade nodded eagerly. "I owe you one for this, definitely. Anything within reason."

He thought a minute or two before lowering his voice. "What... what about the story? The full story? I could pay you back with anything that's too much with parts of my own..."

Her smile didn't falter for a moment.

"We'll see."

-

The car was stuffy and of an old make, a T-bird maybe (just like the song), but what it lacked in finesse it made up for in speed. Usually, anyway; not now, as it inched through traffic thicker than false hair plugs.

Still, as they slowly made progress, it seemed to Dallas that all of Autumn had decided to take a trip right on Thanksgiving day rather than the day before or after. They were "beating traffic", he supposed.

The car ride hadn't done much for the two in terms of bonding. They had given each other an affectionate pat on the arm or leg a couple times, a few shy smiles, but that was as far as it got. Dally realized the discomfort of the situation as being purely nerves and bashfulness. Which, to Dallas, was the root of boredom and the beginning of a slow and unsteady pacing.

What the two of them needed was a good talk, one of the talents required for a real relationship Dallas sorely lacked. Johnny couldn't be anymore knowledgeable than he was; Dallas didn't doubt this was probably Johnny's first, beyond-the-playground relationship.

Still, he was the one to break the ice.

"So, I guess we're together now, huh?"

In the eyes of others, they'd already been "together" for quite a while. However, this was the first time they said it out loud to each other.

"Yeah," Dally said, keeping his eyes on the road as the group of cars ahead finally lapsed into motion. He managed a crooked (but just as genuine) smile for Johnny, anyway. "I guess we are."

It was as simple as that.

-

Oh, how Ponyboy loathed the holidays.

Being an angsty teenager from one of those Glory-Hallelujah-that's-big! families, when Thanksgiving rolled around, he anticipated it with much grief.

"Lucky!" Bryon had proclaimed from over the phone, safe and far way from the "luckiness" of it all. "I wish I had a big family with loads of obscure cousins."

"It's like meeting new people every time they come," Pony said dryly, "there's so many."

He could've sworn he heard Bryon snap his fingers over the phone. "Oh - how's hat oldest cousin? The one with the big software company in Iowa?"

Bryon's mother had liked that one. Hit on him a couple of times, drove his father crazy. "Yeah, he's fine. But he's not the oldest anymore - we found his real daddy; turns out he has an older brother."

"Wow. Makes you proud to be from a big Southern family, right?"

"So excited I could just vomit."

After he hung up, Pony practiced his scowling on a particularly rowdy cousin who dragged him into a headlock, a teenage niece (who, ashamedly, was older than him) intercepting the phone for a long-distance call.

"Don't you have a god damn cell?" he growled, attempting to get cousin twenty-four (he had given up on learning all their names, instead settling on referring to them all by number) to shove off.

The niece pursed her lips, black ringlets of frizzy hair dominating her face. "_Auntie! Ponyboy's using nasty language again!_"

"Hey!" another cousin piped up. "I thought you said you was Mike now!"

They guffawed, distracting Twenty-four long enough for MP to get away.

Pony successfully escaped to the kitchen, wherein his mother stood at the counter, chopping carrots. He sighed long and hard, leaning against the doorframe of the threshold.

"I hate the holidays," he said in a stiff voice. His mother sighed as well.

"We should have named you 'Grinch' like we originally planned. Or 'Scrooge'."

"S'not too late," his father quipped, stealing a carrot chunk as he entered. He kissed his wife's neck. "He wouldn't mind changing his name. It'd only be the fourth time this week, right Mike?"

Pony turned on his heel immediately. The whole world seemed to be laughing at him.

He didn't need this.

The next twelve minutes were spent tossing rocks at Bryon's window. He was just about to contemplate throwing something slightly larger, maybe to shatter the window, when his friend finally emerged.

"Daddy says I can't have boys over yet," he remarked. Still, the wild-eyed expression said otherwise. Bryon was happy to see him.

"Can I come in?" Mike asked, trying to keep the pleading out of his voice. Bryon paused to turn around, glancing behind him.

"Oh - they're eating," he said, apologetically. He then caught the defeated look on Pony's face and amended, "Just let me get my coat, okay?"

They had wasted another dozen minutes, time slowly trickling by, when Pony blurted what was on his mind.

"Thanks."

Bryon blinked. Then laughed. "Hey, no problem. Thanksgiving with them is like hell in a hand basket, the two of them always bickering. It's nice to just get-"

"No, not that. Not _just_ that," Pony saved. "You've just... You've never told me, 'Pony, you need a hobby' or, 'Don't you have any other friends?' when I ask you to do things like this." He adjusted his coat, flipping his collar up. "You take pretty much everything I say without question."

Bryon bit his lip. "This is some serious Brokeback Mountain shit going on here."

Mike looked at him, exasperated. "I am - serious, I mean."

They stopped walking, Bryon pausing to kick up some dirt that had piled in the street. Pony watched him, hands in pockets.

"It's like... you really don't care one way or another."

Then in a high, desperate voice, Bryon beseeched, "Ponyboy, I could never tell you to change. You're always real stressed about that, about changing to fit everybody's needs. You just can't let things _be._" The whole time he said this, Bryon hadn't looked up. He did now, meeting Pony's eyes with red-faced abandon. "Least of all _you._"

He paused to take a deep breath, to toy nervously with his hair, avoiding Pony's eyes again. "And here we are, standing in the middle of Autumn, letting our hearts out all over." By the way he said it, you couldn't tell if he meant the town or the season. "I couldn't care less what you're like. I could never reject you."

Pony blinked. He oozed calmness, and yet he felt the insides of his chest buzz with the gravity of what had been said.

"Now you're the one going queer on me, cowboy."

"And now I'm also the one being serious."

"Me, too."

There were a thousand and one ways to interpret that. _You're being gay. Just stop it,_ or maybe, _Tone it down a bit, Bry._

There was the offbeat meaning, Pony's tone of voice, that opened another door.

They flushed simultaneously at the implication.

Bryon brought up the courage to grin goofily. "Can I be Ledger to your Gyllenhaal? Or do you call tops?"

Pony, for the first time since hitting puberty, smiled a genuine smile.

"You idiot," he uttered, softly.

-

Thankfully, the sun was still out when they arrived at Iopyle. Dallas parked the car between a grouping of trees and a motorcycle before twisting in his seat to grill Johnny.

"Okay, we're here - do I have to pay anything? Do we have to sign in anywhere?"

"Nope!" Johnny replied cheerfully. In one swift movement he had popped the door open and hopped out. "Now come on!"

Dally followed warily, something that had been bugging him since agreeing to go on the trip finally resurfacing.

"Hey, Johnnycake?"

He turned but didn't stop moving, instead switching to walking backwards. "Yeah?" he called.

"What exactly _is_ Iopyle?"

Johnny smiled, slowing his pace. "You'll see."

Dallas hesitated before locking the car, running to catch up.

It was a waterfall. Within it, there was a large outcropping of boulders and large rocks on which the tourists played, keeping to the drier bits, clinging to safety. A wooden structure, which had supposedly once been a train bridge, spanned over the falls to the thick bushel of woods on the other side of the miniature river.

Dally stared at it, shocked. It was no Niagra, but he'd never seen so much nature in one place - especially not growing up.

"Well?" Johnny asked, having already made it to the foot of the bridge. "Come on!"

Dally came on, head semi-rotating in a tourist-fashion.

A line of shops. A middle-aged woman with her breasts bunched into a shirt twenty-sizes two small. Families: and lots of them. This was not place where people normally came alone, so he stuck close to Johnny for appearances.

They set off over the bridge, a group of girls giggling at them as they passed. Johnny smiled bashfully, keeping his head down as they went by to the delight of them, who giggled. Little did they know, they were not the reason for it; Dallas had clasped his hand ever so briefly, whispering something - dirty? tender? - in his ear.

The two of them hiked for a good half of the day, stopping to rest now and then. By the time they actually decided to check out the falls themselves, it was nearing twilight.

"I love the sunsets here," Johnny gasped, nearly falling to his ass on the hard rock. Dallas meandered, slumping in a sweaty heap.

"That's not a forest," he grunted, smoker-lungs ready to give out. "It's a jungle."

Rather than copy the people around them, removing their shoes and socks and dipping a toe in at a time, they splashed their way into a weaker current of water, careful yet reckless as they cooled themselves off.

When they finally settled down, it was side-by-side on a secluded span of rock, the moistness dampening the backs of their jeans and their pant legs rolled as they dipped their feet in.

It was there that Johnny passed out against him, leaving Dallas time to mull things over.

"Oh!" a cute chick squealed, her black bob of a hairdo bouncing about her ears. She pointed to Johnny.

"What is it?" A black girl, her friend by the looks of it, made her way over as well. She looked real good in yellow.

"Aw!" she cooed to Dally. "Is that your little brother?"

Johnny and Dally didn't look anything alike, but it was the safest inference. Not in the mood for correcting them or having to explain things away, Dallas replied, "Sure."

It was an odd way to answer a question like that, but they giggled again all the same, complimenting him on how the two looked good together. Dally returned their reactions with a phony smile, nodding and "uh huh"-ing every now and then. Talking to girls just wasn't as fun as it used to be before Johnny. Once he'd found refuge in them, a sort of makeshift shelter from what he'd had to do (or, what his father _made_ him do) when funds ran low. Now they were just irritating.

Wow. Either he was crazy or he just cared about Johnny that much. Both girls had had great legs, but he'd deflected each flirt without much apathy.

After they left, a little sore at their lack of courting success, Johnny began to stir.

"Right on time," Dally said to him softly, his friend's big eyes blearily blinking away sleep. "It's getting late. We'll want to high-tail it out of here if you ever want to see your mom again."

Rubbing his eyes, Johnny mumbled, "What time is it?"

Dally felt a powerful pull in the pit of his chest, an indescribable sensation of being overwhelmed... but with what? He wondered suddenly if that was ever how Johnny felt around him.

"Um, I don't know. We still gotta get out of here." The moment was gone, and he glanced at his watch, invisible in the dark. The only after affect was a quickened heartbeat. "I guess you missed most of the sunset."

Johnny shrugged. "Maybe next time. I enjoyed myself, anyway."

He looked at Dallas, smile crooked slightly askew.

"You know, I think... I think I love you."

* * *

OH EM GEE, I AM GETTING SO OFF-TRACK! -fans self- Lordy, I thought I'd gotten over my love for Pony and Bryon. B-but I can't help it! Pony-Mike's such a screen-hog, and wherever he goes, Bryon does as well. They still have some more appearances to make, from wangsty to comic-relief, but I promise, -promise- not to forget who the real stars are! Um... Tim and Darry, right? 8D

(and for my pervy fans - my handwriting's awful. So, when I went to went the line "nearly falling to his ass on the hard rock", I realized "rock" looked like... something else entirely.)


	8. Verse Eight

Hmm. Question: What slash couples (from the Outsiders) do you like the most? What genres? I want to write a couple of oneshots. I don't need idea-ideas, just a general layout. Like, I dunno - Tex/Mason, super fluffy sunshine incest, or whatever. Just like that.

I look forward to reviews and ideas. :3

* * *

******S**o what do _you_ think Dally did?

For a moment he was too stunned to speak. Then, despite or because of the diminishing crowds of people, he gripped Johnny by the shoulder, kissing the top of his head.

He led the way to the car without speaking, kind of wishing Johnny wouldn't say anything. He didn't.

Dallas tried to lock his face into a pleasant expression or at least some kind of half-smile as they rode home, the silence continually prolonged.

They didn't talk. They didn't touch. And Dally did not return the statement.

-

The first time Bryon saw the movie theatre guy, he was heading to a showing with Ponyboy on one of the few days where Cathy wasn't free. And of course he hadn't been suspicious; he and Cathy were in love.

Okay, _she _hadn't technically said that. Actually, Bryon had. To her. Yesterday. He hadn't heard from her since, but he figured she just needed some time to adjust.

Pony couldn't disagree more.

"You said it too soon, you dumbass. You spooked her."

"I can't help it! I love telling people I love them. I'm an 'I love you' prostitute. I love you, Pony."

His vertically challenged friend rolled his eyes in that oh-so-put-upon way.

"Just shut your trap during the movie, alright? I've been wanting to see this one for a while."

They slowed their pace outside the blocky building, warily apprehending the lines. They did rock-paper-scissors to determine who would pay for the tickets and popcorn, and per usual Pony lost. Also per usual, Bryon felt bad and offered to pay for his own.

They were three steps from approaching the window when Bryon saw the familiar, sleek black type of hair-do Cathy usually had. But it couldn't have been Cathy, of course, because the guy she was with was most certainly not Bryon. Still, for some reason, he felt anger and jealousy flare up when the other guy kissed the not-Cathy.

Pony seemed surprised, too.

"Hey, Bry - isn't that...?"

Bryon hung his head, deciding to study the gum stuck to the ground and so _not _moping. Pony fell silent.

"Well?"

Bryon looked up, eyebrows bunched together, at the irate tapping of his friend's foot. Pony held up his hand to the impatient person selling tickets at the window to pull Bryon aside. He lowered his voice.

"Well - you going to talk to her or what?"

Bryon shook his head. "I just... No. And don't ask me why." Pony shut his mouth. Then, he opened it again.

"Okay - you want to go home instead?"

He nodded eagerly. Pony wasn't as selfish as he seemed; he always had other people's best interests at heart.

They left the theatre that day without being seen, and Bryon had managed to try and forget, for him and Cathy's sake as a couple. At least, until Cathy decided it was time they break up.

"It's that guy, isn't it?!" he had snapped without thinking, too mad and frustrated at that minute to care. Cathy had seemed surprised at first to see he knew, but then relaxed.

"Yes," she said, and that was the end of it. Not too soon after she said this, Bryon would go on to drag Pony out of class so he could confide in him. Not so long after that, he found he couldn't even remember why he had wanted Cathy or been sore about her in the first place.

Because right now, he was completely preoccupied with somebody else.

-

Johnny held onto Dallas's shoulders as he kissed him, tender and begging, over and over again. Their lips moved together, easy and pushing for more yet not violating any set boundaries. Johnny could feel the heat overtake him, the amazing feeling of falling in an downward spiraling ellipse, the hands that gripped his hips being the only thing tying him to Earth.

His pulse fell in tune with the chant he spoke only in his mind; _I love you. I love you. I love, love, love you._

Johnny wrapped his arms around Dally's neck, bringing him closer as they fell back together on their shared mattress. Their breathing, their short gasps for air; it was all very loud in his ears, the very thunder of soothing exhilaration. 

_Take me_, he wanted to beg, and by the weight on his leg, he could tell Dally wanted the same thing.

But it was over now. He was slowing down to a stop and hovering over Johnny, breathing heavily but not lustfully. A small curtain of white-blond fell in their vision, and ice met ash in the single fluttering of eyelids.

"How you doin'?" Dally asked, red-faced and smiling wider than Johnny had ever seen him manage. His disappointment washed away quicker than a city in a storm.

"Pretty good," he replied in whisper, smiling back. Johnny took Dally's face in his hands and kissed him, slowly, deeply.

Dally flipped over onto his back beside Johnny, who took his hand in his tiny-in-comparison grasp. Their fingers laced.

"Wow," the older boy breathed.

A few seconds later, he opened his eyes again.

"Hey, Johnny?" Dally asked, not bothering to move. The eye he could see bored into the younger teen.

He couldn't help it; Johnny laughed. "Y-yeah?"

With a grunt, Dallas turned to lean over on his side, looking at Johnny fully. He was all business. "That my shirt?"

Johnny closed his eyes and flipped over onto his side. "G'night, Dal."

Which meant yes.

-

Pony was as confused as hell right now, and the only way to make things make sense would be to get mad. Because when you arrived in front of Bryon with a temper, all was forgiven.

Except right now he really didn't want to think about Bryon, much less talk to him.

And then Johnny Cade had to walk in, all smiles and sugar and bunnies with the village criminal in tow, radiating the same.

"Hi, Pony," Johnny greeted, beaming. Dallas walked past without so much as a scoff his way, going to sit down until they were dismissed for homeroom. He didn't have to wave to Johnny because he knew he'd come.

"Fuck off," Mike swore.

Johnny's face fell. "Pony, what's-?"

"And stop calling me that!" he added, feeling the need to be angry with no reason. "I told you, I fucking hate it when all you idiots call me that."

Dallas stopped mid-step, paused, then walked backwards. Despite himself, Pony found himself shrinking beneath the venomous glare that followed.

"Nice shirt, kid," he said unexpectedly. MP looked at him blankly.

Dallas cocked his head, grinning. "Yeah. You're kind of swimming in it, though - what, you steal one of Bryon's shirts or something?"

His face flushed, eyes narrowing. "Hell no, it isn't. I borrowed it from a cousin, is all-"

"Cut the crap," Dallas sneered. "I heard what you've been saying about us, and if anybody's queer, kid, it's-"

"What's going on here?"

Johnny looked relieved, releasing the sleeve of Dally's shirt he'd been tugging on for the past several seconds. Pony's face flushed deeper as the subject of his nightmares came up behind him.

To his rescue, to save his ungrateful ass. Again - and here he was, calling him a nightmare.

"It is true, Dallas," Byon said coolly, planting a hand firmly on his friend's shoulder. It was almost like he was single handedly supporting him; Pony was almost one-hundred percent sure he indeed was. "Pony comes from a real big Southern family, and they leave a lot of stuff lying around. I wouldn't be surprised if this was all he could find to wear, thanks to those filthy free-loading..."

Dallas's eyes held Pony's firm, hard and icy. Johnny's darted nervously between the two; he bit his lip.

"I'm so damn tired of this," Pony spat, abruptly. "I'm tired of all your bullshit, of how damn righteous and _perfect_ you are!" He pointed accusingly at Johnny, who shrank back. Dallas narrowed his eyes.

"Hey, brat. You keep off him or I'll snap your -"

"You won't do no damn such thing," Bryon interrupted, flexing his hands.

Unexpectedly, Pony turned on him, too. "Would you _step off?_ I'm sick and tired of you babying me, treating me like I'm made of fucking glass!"

He shoved the so proclaimed "lovebirds" out of the way, storming out and narrowly missing a crack to the skull by Dallas that Johnny had feebly managed to hold off. Concerned, Bryon ran after him.

"Don't these teachers to anything right?" Dallas grumbled after things had quieted down. His arm was still in Johnny's grasp, and people were watching. He couldn't have cared less at this point.

"I don't think any amount of education could've stopped that from happening," Johnny said dryly.

Dallas shook his head. "No - I mean, they just skipped school, y'know? I'd doubt they could make it past the main office, if I didn't know how shitty this school was."

"Oh." Johnny let go of his arm, standing there and watching Dallas crack his neck and curse. You could tell he'd been hoping for a fight; not from somebody scrawny like Ponyboy, but maybe Bryon in the least would've had a good brawl in him. He was big enough.

Dallas sighed. "Well, since you aren't gonna' let me skip, even to check on our good friends' well being-"

"Hell no!"

He laughed before continuing. "Like I said, since you won't let me, let's sit our asses down before we're announced an official freak sideshow."

He stopped in mid-stride though, suddenly smirking as if at some joke.

Johnny arched his eyebrows at him. "Just what's so funny?"

Dallas guffawed now, in full-on hysterics. "I guess you ain't the only one with a shirt fetish, 'aight?"

Johnny punched him in the back.

-

Pony began to slow his frantic sprint to a stop, the slow leakage of anger that was left trickling through his mind and poisoning his thoughts. He glared.

He wasn't looking at Bryon directly so as to tell if all this was technically happening, but if Bryon knew him as well as he thought he did, then he was correct.

"I just hate him," Pony snapped, still refusing to meet his eyes or turn around.

It was pouring now, one of the reasons Bryon secretly loved it here in Autumn; how beautiful it was when it rained.

"Why?" he whispered.

Pony's shoulders slumped.

"He really gets to me sometimes - you know?"

Bryon didn't make a move. "Is it because of what he said to you? About being one in a million?"

He could've laughed at the thought, that Pony was still thinking about something said that many ages ago. In fact, he did; loud and stale so it startled Pony into an upright position. He whipped his head around to look at him, most likely appalled at Bryon's mad-man behavior.

"You spoiled rotten kid," he rasped, not at all meanly. "Baby, I've been telling you the same thing for years."

Pony glared at him. Instead of the "can't you be serious?" Bryon had expected, he got something altogether different.

"Don't you think I know that?"

His voice was soft, and yet Bryon had somehow managed to hear him through the pounding rain. He stood, stock still, stunned at hearing his friend admit his own flaws.

Pony ran a hand through his hair, pushing the sopping wet brought on by the downpour back from his forehead. Bryon couldn't help but admire that; how vulnerable he looked.

Vulnerable. Not a word he could personally associate with Pony, but none the less the perfect way to describe the way he was to nearly everyone else. Vulnerable.

Pony stiffened as Bryon took him in his arms, feeling the hum of a faint moan's vibrations as he buried his head in the crook of Pony's neck. Bryon had never noticed how small Pony's shoulders were; he'd barely noticed he had ever been a head shorter than Bryon. But he was.

He could feel Ponyboy blushing against his cheek without seeing it, even heard it in his voice as he said, "Did Cathy ever make you do... that?"

Bryon blushed, too, almost thinking that what he'd heard in his longtime friend's voice had been fear. But when he made an attempt to move off, Pony held him there.

"Bryon..."

And suddenly he wasn't the high-strung brat, the emotionally stunted teenager. He was a kid who loved to read and was sensitive and who everybody thought they had a right to pick on just because his crack-head parents had named him something so ridiculous. He was a kid who liked Bryon, even if he was loud and obnoxious and taught him just how nice it was sometimes to just sit down with a book and read; he was the kid who first befriended Bryon when no one else would, upon whom Bryon had taken to protect fiercely, no matter the costs.

He was the kid who was shy and terrified of what people thought of him, and worried himself sick over the opinions of people frankly Bryon didn't think deserved his approval. But Bryon had protected him nonetheless, protected him from further crippling words as best he could, but the damage was done.

Perhaps most importantly, though, he stayed by his side, maybe because in a past life he'd been cruel or misunderstanding or judged him too soon, but Bryon loved him all the same and wanted no harm to come to him.

Yes, that's right, he realized. He loved Ponyboy. He always had, and he could vaguely remember Cathy saying in what he'd thought to be merely playful spite at the time, "If it weren't for the fact he has a penis, I'd be in real trouble, wouldn't I?"

And it suddenly made sense, that she'd be so uncomfortable with his confession. Because it _wasn't real; _she'd always be second-to-best, and she knew it.

Pony gripped Bryon, who was still recovering from the bricks of realization, grasped him by the cheeks and kissed him. He kissed him desperately and mournfully because this was it; they were making the right choice, embracing it, and hell itself could rise up to stop them if it wished.

"It's raining," Bryon mumbled into his mouth when Pony began to fist his shirt.

"It's always raining, Bry." He smirked crookedly up at him. "Which means no one will come outside until it's over."

They fell into rhythm, three blocks from the school, hiding behind the shrubbery of a nearby stranger's lawn. Bryon may have been dominating; it was Pony who lead the strokes.

* * *

To those of you who enjoyed their company, don't worry! The same goes to haters: Bryon and Pony will show up once more towards the end (like, possibly the last or second-to-last chapter) for comic relief, then that's it. From here on in, it's aaaaall Dally/Johnny slash. B)

Oh, and I'm renaming a few chapters, since I hate what they're called so far. :D

Kudos to the writers of ******How I Met Your Mother** and the recent movie remake of ******Bewitched**, for inspiring two different lines here.


	9. Verse Nine

For Mallory, the one who actually wrote Buck's original, blatant and often politically incorrect rants. (There were going to be three specific ones, but for the sake of my mostly clean reputation I had to cut them.)

Thanks again to my readers - I swear, your reviews make me so happy! X3 I save all my favorites and read them when I'm depressed. I really can't express enough thanks to youse'all. 8D (Note: the author is from Jersey, which therefore makes "youse'all" a real word.)

* * *

**D**allas Winston Sr. absolutely did _not_ like having his possessions taken from him, sober or drunk. The only reason he hadn't come to claim what was his was that, the day after Dally ran out, a few regular clients arrived unannounced - and, upon finding no "goods" with which to service themselves, they beat him to a bloody pulp. The next few days would bring much the same.

The cycle continued and, in a purple haze of wine and bruises, lying in his slow recuperation on the ratty floors of his two-bit apartment, Dally's father had an epiphany.

Let the kid run. Let him hide; it didn't matter. He was prone to slip up sooner or later.

-

Johnny checked the phone history, uttered a rare foul word, and then selected the number that belonged to the person he wished most to see.

It rang three times on his first try and four on the second, marking seven beats in all he waited only to embrace the agony of being disconnected. He was ready to give up and perhaps leave a message when he was finally answered.

"I wanted to talk to you, Johnny," was the man's initial greeting, coming across brusque and impolite. Johnny let it slide; there were bigger fish to fry.

"Then why didn't you leave a message?"

The man's voice quavered on response, and Johnny realized with a sudden wave of crimson to his countenance (1) what time it'd be on his side of the country. He suddenly was feeling as if _he_ were the guilty one.

"Oh, you know, that answering machine of yours. It's one of those robotic, anonymous ones; threw me off."

Johnny knew that was a lie. He knew it because the man had not hesitated to call them annually and obsessively for the first week or so that they had lived there. "You mean it has nothing to do with Mom?"

He heard a sharp intake of breath.

"It might," the man replied.

Johnny noted in the silence that followed the odd, out-of-tune breathing patterns.

"Dally, if you're there, I wouldn't mind you hanging up, please."

He imagined he heard a stifled curse and the click of the receiver. His father's voice in resuming the conversation was placid.

"That the stray your mother took in?"

Johnny, despite knowing his father had been orphaned himself, decided it safest if he change the subject. He ventured, "So, how's your roommate doing?"

Meanwhile, Dally watched from the safety of the doorway, anticipating a scolding and also trying to catch all else that he could of the conversation. Right now, that was proving particularly difficult; the other man, who Dally did not recognize, was seemingly chatting Johnny's ear off. The only responses the teenager gave for a while were little nods without so much as an "mm hmm" on his part.

Dally noted the cold parting words and solemn look on his lover's face as he hung up on what Dallas had initially thought to be his father. Something about Johnny's earlier connotation to father figures made him believe otherwise; on the other hand, there _had_ been that little note of disappointment in his voice...

Johnny shouldered past him, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration - a look Dally had taken to dubbing the "worried brows", usually associated with Pony or Dallas himself. By now, anyone could tell the kid couldn't help but to dote and worry over those he loved; even the asshole-ish ones.

"Hey, hey!" Dallas cried out, realizing his prey was escaping. He scrambled after him, calling again and causing Johnny to pause in his ascension of the stairs.

"Listen," Dallas snapped, before realizing how hostile he sounded. "_Listen_," he tried again, softer this time. "I was wondering if you wanted to accompany me somewhere this weekend. We'll call it a boys' night out."

Johnny smiled. "Never thought I'd hear you say that."

Dallas frowned, slightly offended. "What do you mean by that? I took you to that Iopyle place, didn't I?"

Johnny laughed, a musical and eerily feminine sound, and he started downwards again. "No - you take me places, sure, but I just mean I didn't expect you to say 'boys' night out'. It's so... gay. Especially for you."

"Gay?" Dally parroted, smiling wide and revealing a set of what could only be described as shark teeth. "Oh, I'll show _you_ gay."

Johnny shrieked, turning to run back up the steps as the older boy plowed after him.

-

Bar-hopping wasn't necessarily what Johnny's foremost idea of a romantic getaway was. Not that any romance had been aforementioned; he'd just _assumed_, considering how close they were lately, and the way Dally'd asked...

"Trust me - you'll like it when we get there," Dally pushed. Johnny shrugged, trying his best to fake a smile and not cringe as Dally's junked-up vehicle made its way down the road.

The older teen clicked his tongue disapprovingly as moisture began to fog up the windows. "Damn. I should've known better when we were out earlier - red sky in the morning..."(2)

Johnny had an odd shimmer of hope that that meant they weren't going after all, but instead Dally simply flicked on the windshield wipers. He found himself left with a sinking feeling at that; he felt bad for it, but then he also had some right to be miserable. For God's sake, a _bar_.

Full of angry, wet delinquents.

The feeling of sickness quelled slightly as they pulled up to the place and the shitbox entered neutral before Dally switched it off. Apparently, the car ride had been no better than a seeping pound of salt to the wound on Johnny's anxiety.

The strong, impending pit actually continued to shallow as they escaped the rain to the warmly lit interior of the bar, the sounds of noise congenial enough to put a stopper on most people's blind terror. The little brunette was still considering the easiness of the situation when a particularly clocked man lumbered over, yelping, "_Houston!_"

"It's Dallas, Timmy. Or did you forget that in the span of four days?"

The tall, curly-haired man frowned (though it was more of a drunken pout) at him.

"Oh, come on," he snorted, sounding for the moment sober. "I think it was longer than four days."

"Weeks, maybe!" another man piped up, "Months!"

"Fuck you," Dallas said crossly. "And your mother."

Tim put his hands together in mock-prayer. "And also with you," he said in a spooky voice.

Clearly already bored with the visitors, he wandered back towards the hustle-and-bustle, where a crowd was forming around a Southern-born man exclaiming in a loud and thickly-accented voice for all to hear. Tim was among those laughing the hardest. Dallas smiled fondly.

"Y'see, Johnny," he said, "this isn't just any bar."

He ordered two beers from the seedy-looking barkeep, only to end up changing it to a beer and a Coke at the look issued to him by Johnny. Dally slipped into a booth with him, face unusually slack. He looked relaxed.

"For eleven years," he began again, startling the second party (who hadn't been expecting it) slightly, "this's been my home away from home."

Johnny shrank at the thought, considering the fact that Dally had been only seven that long ago. Though from what he'd seen thus far, it couldn't be as bad as it sounded - the atmosphere here was friendlier than one would expect.

So he relaxed a little, even drinking a few shots after some ribbing from Dallas. Of course he trusted him; this was, after all, _Dally.  
_  
"I don't believe I properly introduced you before," Johnny's subject of hero-worship proclaimed, tugging him over to a seat at the bar. The curly-haired man from before winked at him, an even drunker blonde Texan he'd seen (or rather _heard_) earlier practically draped over his left half.

Dally indicated the brunette. "Johnny? Tim Shepard," he nudged the half-dead man, causing a light groan to escape him, "and Buck."

The blonde bobbed his head slightly, eyelids drooping. "Much 'bliged," he mumbled, voice sounding heavier cloaked in his Southern bequest now that he was drunk.

Dallas, who had been irately tapping his fingers and chewing his lip, decided, "Hey, I'm going to get a few more drinks. Hang here, okay?" He directed that last bit to Johnny, who reluctantly sat back in his seat.

Dally left their group humming something that sounded suspiciously like _Strawberry Fields Forever._ Which in itself was odd, seeing as Dally didn't seem at all like a Beatles' fan to Johnny. Tim ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth, eyebrows scrunched together.

"Kid's worried about something," he stated.

Johnny glanced at him curiously, wondering out loud, "How can you tell?"

Tim looked thoughtful. "You don't know? No, I suppose you don't. He's not exactly the open type."

Buck rubbed his head against Tim's shoulder, mumbling something that sounded like, "Why don't you go to church?", and ultimately severed the mood.

Tim tried to regain composure, shifting in a way that was meant to be inconspicuous in moving the other man into a more comfortable position. Instead, Buck fell into his lap. Johnny looked quickly away.

"Y'see," Tim attempted, "when something's eating Houston, he has a habit of singing Beatles' songs. Maybe they're meant to calm him, but from what I've seen they usually make him worse - real agitated. Then again, you never really know." Tim stared at something unseen off to the side. "I always thought he hated them."

A while later Dally returned with the drinks, his jaw clenched and his eyes wary. Johnny tried not to act like he noticed. He smiled and said tacitly, "Thank you," hoping to cheer him up a bit.

The music dulled to a staticky mess as someone fiddled with the radio. Then, without warning, a nearly ancient Hank Williams song filled the room, causing most of its occupants to groan. Buck stirred before sitting up, quite swiftly having become awake.

"Don't you change it! I love this song!"

Johnny watched, barely stifling a guffaw as Tim was dragged onto the open floor. Dally released a loud breath.

"Ah, jeez. Those two..."

He shook his head, guzzling his drink. Johnny frowned.

"I personally like your _friends_," he said, deliberately pronouncing the last word. Dallas snorted.

"Yeah? What if I told that nice Tim guy was an accent-o-phile? Better keep your Jersey twang hidden from him or he might molest you - I learned that the hard way." He grinned, either amused with himself or the memory that'd been unearthed. "And Buck? Well, he's from Texas. The powers that be know he can't be trusted."

Johnny rolled his eyes but couldn't help but let a smirk peek through. Dally's eyes flashed with something unreadable as he raised his glass, smile triumphant.

"To us."

-

In a blur of heavy bodies and the smell of alcohol they fell together, laughing, into a room where the pounding music was muffled and easier on their headaches.

Outside, the blaring ragtime abruptly faded out and then in, instrumentals having changed to funkadelic strums and pure lyrical nonsense. Dally's expression turned to one of unease; Johnny, despite his current inebriation, noticed.

Gently, he pulled Dally closer, leaning his cheek against his chest. "Why do the Beatles make you such a bundle of nerves? Aren't they usually a _happy _band?"

Dally ran his fingers through the smaller boy's hair, rocking back and forth on his heels. Together they moved, and only then he spoke.

"A lot of... bad men used to listen to them."

Johnny hummed against him, starting to pull him to the lone couch at the back of the room. They began to kiss, nearly tripping over their own heels as they made way to their final destination.

"Dallas - oh God, _please_ - M-make love to me..."

And that was where everything came to a screeching halt.

Dally closed his eyes." Johnny... you don't really want this."

"I-I do," he murmured into the front of the blonde's shirt. He was already drifting off.

"You're drunk."

He was quiet.

"But I've wanted this for _ages_."

Dally sighed, slowly detaching the hands that were wrapped so possessively about his neck.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just _can't_."

He left him there to feel stupid and rejected, before Johnny finally reentered the bar and moved himself to an opposite corner. The bartender let him order drinks despite his apparent age, but he guessed that was because he was with Dallas. And because he remembered he was riding on his coattails, he drank deeper.

Hours later Dally would retrieve him from that very same spot, saying softly something that sounded like, "Let's get you home..."

And though he wouldn't realize until much later, Johnny would remember in the vague backdrop someone humming _Hey Jude_.

-

_"Get rhythm... When you get the blues, c'mon get rhythm... When you get the blues..."  
_  
Water cascaded down the windshield in a blinding torrent, wipers fighting with it in a battle that seemed lost. Beside him in the passenger's seat, Johnny yawned and giggled.

"Izzat Johnny Cash? I _love_ him! I feel sorry for the boy named Sue... But isn't Ponyboy worse?"

"Jeez, kid, I'm sorry," Dally whispered haltingly, ignoring the incoherent babble. "I shouldn't have taken you there..."

How fucking irresponsible, he thought bitterly, glaring straight ahead. But then, when exactly was it that he became the responsible adult?

He hoped to God or whatever power that may or may not be that he wouldn't get pulled over.

-

They got home at one in the morning to find Mrs. Cade dutifully guarding the door. Dally got out of the car, carrying the inebriated Johnny in his arms. She met them halfway and took over, taking his small body the rest of the way. All the while, her face was stony, her eyes stormy. She didn't say a word; she merely set her jaw firm to show she meant business.

As soon as she ascended the porch steps, Dallas drove off.

* * *

(1) We're reading The Raven, and I learned a new word so I decided to use it - "crimson countenance" basically means "red faced". Sorry if I confused anyone, but romances include lots of blushing, and I wanted to try something new.

(2) "Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning" - an old phrase my mother uses quite often that supposedly warns when it's going to rain.

(Fun Fact!) Also, despite the fact that I _hate_ Johnny Cash, this is the second fic where I've made a reference to him.


	10. Verse Ten

I changed all the chapter titles because I hate them. Thinking of them, looking at them; I hate them. They suck. So now they're gone.

I'm sorry this sucks and that it's late. Just know that this is the third, maybe fourth-to-last chapter.

When reading this, remember the ******lack of** an aforementioned ******time period**.

* * *

******D**allas shifted uneasily. "I hope you don't mind, but I haven't exactly done this before."

"That's quite alright," the priest replied. Or he thought it was a priest. Except there was a sermon going on outside at the same time, so how did that work?

The screen that separated them was the only thing to lend a clue, the dark silhouette of a hook-nosed profile barely visible from Dallas's side. It could've been a nun, with what seemed to be a veil hanging along the side of the face, but the voice was obviously male - so, that was his _hair?_Odd, Dally decided. All very odd.

"What is on your mind?" Holy man asked. "Relieve yourself of your sins, truly repent, and you will be forgiven."

"I could've gone to a friend," Dallas said honestly, "but that wouldn't... I need somebody who doesn't know me that well to hear this."

"Then you've come to the right place," bluntly said the man.

Dallas continued, "And I guess could've gone to a therapist, but they're really expensive - and I'm in no position to be dishing out money that isn't mine to handle."

"Are you... depending upon someone else?"

Dallas almost hesitated, surprised for a moment. But then, he supposed there was nothing the man hadn't heard thus far in his career; he sounded rather old.

"Yes," Dally said finally.

"Perhaps you feel yourself to be a burden to these people."

Dallas paused, mulling over how it the man seemed to be leading him on. Perhaps he had had a long day and wanted to get it over with already, but... "That's not all I'm sorry for."

There was a stillness, a silence. Nothing could be heard but the echo of the priest (or whoever) conducting mass outside their box, his voice vibrating off the large arches and high marble walls. Because of the chapel's domed roof, his proclamations were all the more boisterous.

Dally sucked in a deep breath, feeling jittery and out-of-place. "Can I... tell you?"

Instead of the expected _of course, God loves you, yatta yatta,_ he received, "If you want to be forgiven."

He certainly didn't feel like it was _God's_ forgiveness he required (he was probably on a straight course to hell with no turning back anyway, by now), but he needed to get this devil of a secret off his chest; and while this sort of forgiveness wasn't the first in his mind of what he really wanted, it was most likely the next best thing.

"Okay," he told the priest. "There's this... person. Hell, a _boy_. He's not all that young, though he acts like it, so 'boy' is... Anyway, at first I thought I just wanted to... I wanted to do things with him. Like, _do things_."

"Go on," the man said, undeterred.

"But anyway, I got to know this kid, and suddenly it was a protection thing. He's vulnerable. I like to feel he needs me, but I can't differentiate between actually feeling something and just being greedy - I _feel like_ I love him, but I also feel kind of guilty. A-and I don't want to lead him down a road too soon before he's had a chance to step back and see all his options."

He was babbling. He was babbling and there was no way this guy would even get a _third _of what he was trying to-

"You most likely feel guilt because of popular views on homosexuality."

Eh?

"Nowadays, there are plenty of 'rights' for those sorts of people, but then most religions haven't yet changed their minds about it. And while laws indicate an equality, it's really just a load of bull-" the man cleared his throat. Stunned, Dally stared ahead.

"What I'm trying to say is, you have no reason to be sorry - morally or legally."

Dally felt better after hearing that. But that was only one complex he tended to dwell on; there was still more to be said, and that something soon crashed around his ears.

He spoke the words, "Father, I did something to hurt someone I love."

And there was nothing more to say.

Dallas and the holy man both felt the forgivings to be cheap. Dallas brooded, disappointed he didn't feel any better now that he had managed to accomplish all that.

Hurriedly he left the suffocating little box, only to stop short when he noticed mass was still going on. Feeling self-conscious, he sat in a nearby pew, deciding to tough it out and stay to avoid drawing attention to himself - it would be impossible not to, what with those large, ominously loud doors. How extravagant! What did they think this was, a basilica? Humble his ass.

He waited it out and, when the service was over, he was one of the first to bolt.

"Slow down there, son."

The voice and restricting hand on his shoulder belonged to a young man with the hindered vocal quality of being old beyond his years. No, wait; at a closer look, there were age lines, perhaps even a gray hair or two in that feathery sea of dark gold.

The man's eerie expression quickly changed to friendly. Dallas inwardly flinched at the sudden transformation and decided that, overall, it was the eyes. Laughing, chocolate brown eyes, serious eyes that held years of prosaic pain and contempt; yet also the slimmest whisper of hope. Familiar eyes he couldn't quite place.

The man let go of Dallas, indifferent as the teenager stumbled back. He dug in his pockets instead, looking preoccupied with more important matters.

"Spare a smoke?"

The accent, Dally realized, was from out of town. The East Coast, actually - so _really, _out of town. It was New York-ish without actually being New York, which lead Dally to believe it might be Jersey, but... then what was he doing on the opposite side of the country?

"S-sure..." he grumbled, digging in his pocket.

Dally looked at the man closely, trying to figure out where the resemblance started - and with who. He doubted he had ever met this complete stranger, even when he'd lived back East. Really, the man was nearing thirty, perhaps thirty-some - there was no way he could be a former client. But then, what if he was an odd case? And _would_ Dally have been able to recognize him? He'd been only four at the time...

Besides that, the man lacked the usual air of general creepiness most clients sported. And his hand on Dally's shoulder, despite being gruff, wasn't demanding per say. Simply robust.

"Hey, kid. You ready to cough 'em up or not?"

Dally blinked out of his stupor, surprised to see a hand held out before his face. The man sighed.

"Look; you _look _like a smoker. You smell like one. You talk like most smokers do. I would know, being one; so why don't you give it up - one _measly_ cigarette?"

Dallas felt the need to reply with a biting comment, but instead he found himself at a loss for words. He pulled his lighter and pack out for the stranger, whose eyes sparked with... something.

"A-ha," he said. "I've never misjudged a man."

Dally watched as he graciously inhaled the smoke, exhaling like a chimney.

"Rarely liked to smoke when I was your age," the man said genially, not really attempting conversation so much as filling a silence. "Only ever did when I was stressed or something."

Dallas looked at him. "So now that you're an adult, you're anxious all the time?"

The man paused. Mouth curled into a toxic smile, he silently watched the few stragglers left in the lot get into their cars.

"I've made a lot of mistakes," he supplied simply.

Mrs. Cade laughed, an endearing sound. "Honey, you've got to stop running away and just face the consequences. Every time you do run it makes me a little more disappointed than I would've been if you hadn't."

Her words were good-humored, but her tone was stinging. Still, Dally visually acknowledged everything she said, reminding himself that that _was_ her baby boy he'd dragged to a bar and allowed to get drunk.

And also, the nagging; if he didn't regain her forgiveness, he might not be allotted Johnny's.

"I'm sorry," he said softy, when she was done reprimanding him.

Figuring Dallas's pride hadn't taken enough of a beating, she pointed out, "Don't apologize to me. Johnny's the one most hurt by this; you didn't even _call_."

"It's only been a day," Dallas grumbled. Then, wrenching his tone to a better-natured one, "But... where is he?"

Ms. Cade sighed, feeling beat. It was impossible to stay mad at someone when Johnny put so much trust in them. "He's around town with... well, tell me if this sounds crazy... but _Pony_ and Brian?"

Dally thanked her, repeatedly, before leaping off the porch and breaking into a run. As she watched him go, a smile crept onto her lips.

"Well, well, well," she murmured. "I suppose I was right after all."

And with that, she went inside.

Johnny was standing out in front of a grocery store when Dally found him forty-five minutes later.

"Hey," he greeted awkwardly, leaning on the wall beside him. "Bryon and Pony treatin' you right?"

"Yeah," the brunette mumbled. "But they're _really_ into each other now, and I feel kind of like they just ditched me..."

Dally put an arm around him and pulled him close. Johnny remained stiff for a moment before leaning into his friend's touch.

"You left again," he said quietly. "You scare me when you do that, you know."

Dally buried his fingers into the dark, silky strands of his lover's (yes, the title was now appropriate and well overdue) hair before kissing his forehead. "I'm sorry, Johnny. I love you, you know."

People walking past had ignored them up until now, but when Johnny yanked him by the back of the neck and they locked lips, Dallas was aware of several eyes. He didn't, however, pull away.

"Could you at least _call _next time?" Johnny asked in a hushed tone as a huffy a_-hem_ broke them apart_._ His face was red and he was clearly embarrassed by his bold action, as well as Pony's impatient grunt.

Dally kissed him on the lips again and, smirking against them, whispered, "There won't be a next time; I _promise_."

Ignoring Pony's insistent and incessant foot-tapping (which Bryon soon soothed with a firm yet gentle touch to his shoulder), Dally leaned down to see eye-to-eye with Johnny. "Could you ever forgive me for being such a jackass?"

"That's putting it lightly," Pony grumbled. He seemed miffed he hadn't been able to lash out as of yet, so Dally allowed him that one remark. Instead, he remained focused on Johnny.

The brunette brought his hands up slowly and held Dally's face, sending electric shivers throughout the blonde's body.

Looking him right in the eyes, Johnny said, smoothly and clearly, "I will _always_ forgive you."


	11. Verse Eleven

The chapter after this will be the last. :) Happy Holidays.

**

* * *

**

**S**o here he was again, in the suffocating, dimly lit chapel that, despite its size, gave him claustrophobia. Shutting his eyes and folding his hands, Dallas tried to think of the positive; a single trip to church was a small price to pay for forgiveness - Mrs. Cade's forgiveness, anyway. Because while Johnny had been quicker to let things slide, his mother had been determined to make sure that altogether, Dallas stopped repeating the pattern of running away. Ironic that church, of all things, would be considered a punishment.

Yet it was befitting. Being here reminded Dally of his last visit, where he had spilled his most sacred feelings to a stranger; the meeting he'd had with the creepy man in the parking lot, whose odd familiarity gave him the chills.

And the mistakes he'd made that had driven him there in the first place.

Nervously and anxious from thinking these things, he exchanged glances with Johnny, who smiled fondly back.

_Thank you,_ the brunette mouthed. He was referring to his return, to agreeing to this trip, to just everything. In return, Dally smiled back crookedly.

Suddenly, the priest spoke in a commanding voice and made a grand gesture to his audience; everyone stood up. Hesitating, Dally followed suit.

It was a demanding and befitting punishment.

Throughout the service, he found himself glancing warily at Mrs. Cade, looking for some sign of forgiveness, resentment... _anything._ But to his dismay, she kept a poker face. And maybe it was just him, but every time she smiled at him, it seemed less reassuring so much as... bitter? Sarcastic?

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie.

"Dally, you look a little pale... Do you need a break? To go outside, maybe?"

Was she testing him? He was feeling pretty suffocated - and you should never look a gift horse in the mouth...

He stood up and whispered, "I'll be right back."

He faltered just before stepping out of the pew. For good measure, he added, "I promise."

Half the service turned to watch as he exited the chapel, but only two pairs of eyes burned through him.

-

Outside, Dallas staggered along the side of the building. Jeez, maybe it wasn't just nerves; he really _did_ feel like dirt.

He took several gulps of fresh air and curled up on the ground with his head on his knees.

_Holy shit,_ he thought, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. _I wonder if I'll be able to get up and go back inside?_ Speaking of which, would he even be able to stand up, period?

He decided to try, and managed to slowly force himself upright. Might as well tell the Cades he felt like shit. Maybe Mrs. Cade'd take pity on him and they'd go home.

Dally was about to brave going back inside when a noise caught his attention. Out of curiosity, he found himself scaling the wall, careful of his sick stomach, all the while moving towards what sounded like... metal on metal? It was faint even as he got closer.

He came across the culprit and felt his blood run cold.

The figure looked up, assessed Dally, and smiled. His teeth were yellowed by tobacco.

"Hey, son," his father said, smirking. "What brings you here?"

The teenager felt his jaw tighten. "I could ask you the same fucking question, old man."

His father shrugged. Dallas noted the cigarette in his teeth, as well as a lighter - a possible source of the noise.

"I never figured you to be so devout," his father sneered. "And as for why I'm here..."

He flipped the lighter on.

"I'm not taking you back, per say. I'm just speaking up for what belongs to me."

Before Dally could stop him, he held the lighter up to the wood, the flame catching almost instantly.

Without thinking, the blonde surged forward and punched this man he barely knew.

"_Dammit!_"

He was stopped in an attempt to stomp out the fire by a left hook to the jaw, administered by his father.

_No no no no NO-!_

His father staggered to his feet, watching amusedly as his son tried to smother his rapidly growing mess. He let loose a bark of a laugh, loud and crazy.

"You better move quick, boy," he cackled, "Or that kid you like so much..."

Dally's thoughts suddenly zeroed in on this instance of detail.

_Johnny._Without a moment of hesitation, he left his father, running for the entrance. His father's laughter did not die away with every inch he moved away; in fact, it seemed to grow louder.

-

His stomach had been long forgotten as he burst through the double doors panting.

"_Fire!_"

The service came to a halt as the proof - a wall of flame licking at the backmost corner of the church - punctuated his warning.

There was instant pandemonium. People leapt from their pews and rushed out the door, ignoring the priest's begging to stay calm. Dally tried to move against the crowd, but the force of the flow sent him back outside.

His eyes searched the crowd, darting from side to side rapidly. The chaos was beginning to make him nauseous again when suddenly a familiar voice cried out to him.

"_Dally!_"

Mrs. Cade pushed through the throng of panicked people. Seeing her made him feel relieved - until he realized that Johnny was not with her.

He gripped her by the upper arms, steeling himself just short of shaking her. "_Where is he?!_"

She shook her head, eyes darting wildly. "I don't... I thought he followed you... I haven't seen him since you left..." She made direct eye contact with him then, her eyes large with horror. "Dally, we... we have to find him!"

She was smaller than him and trembling; she looked nothing like her usual self. Dally's mind tried to rationalize out its panic, to figure out the next best course of action.

He came to a decision. "Don't worry," he uttered. "I'll find him."

"Dally, wait-!"

But he chose instead to ignore her, breaking out into a sprint.

There was a blur of flame and screams from outside as he searched throughout his line of vision. Johnny couldn't have gotten far, could he? How places were there to even hide in this place?

He was dodging a falling hunk of flame - most likely a ceiling tile - when it came to him: the church basement. The Children's Liturgy, which Johnny had told him about on the ride over, was meeting today.

He ran, searching for the door to the cellar.

_Come on_, he pleaded with himself. _Come ON!_

Suddenly a door from the back burst open, an older man and a group of children filing out.

"Run - for the doors, quickly!"

Dallas grabbed the man in a hostile manner by the front of the shirt.

"Where _is_ he?" he snarled. The man seemed to shrink in his grip as the delinquent in Dally took control. "Where's Johnny?!"

The man shook himself out of his stupor. "He... he's helping one of the children..."

Dally released him, running for the door when another beam fell, splintering in flames, in front of him.

"_Take him!_" Johnny's familiar voice hollered over the roar, and Dally found a child being shoved into his arms.

The blonde stumbled back, stupefied.

"Johnny-!"

The priest took the little boy out of Dally's grip. "Be safe," he begged, and he was gone, leaving Dally free to pursue Johnny.

"It's okay!" he hollered, hearing the patter of frightened feet as they exited the church. "I'm coming!"

He kicked a piece of smoldering lumber out of the way, grateful for the lack of flame engulfing it as he reached inside the narrow doorway for Johnny's hand.

The brunette smiled at him, coming forth, when a third beam fell from the ceiling and devoured Dally's sight of him.

-

_Minor cuts and bruises. An unrelated stomach virus. Minor burns. You'll most likely be alright, but we're keeping you overnight just to be sure..._Dally shook his head, ridding himself of the muddled thoughts of yesterday. Yesterday, when he had gotten out alive and well. Yesterday, when he'd had the chance to make everything right.

You have no idea how lucky you are.

And when he'd blown it.

He buried his face in his hands. Johnny hadn't woken up since Dally had saved him. And if this kept up...

Well, he thought dully. I guess Mrs. Cade won't want me staying with her without Johnny around.

She had forgiven him. She had bawled her eyes out, she had yelled at him for running in, but she had also said that if he hadn't gone in to save him, Johnny might be dead now.

Dally couldn't help but think how it was _him _who'd made Johnny pause long enough to smile - and for the beam to break free and crush him.

Just as he was about to succumb to the newest wave of terror, a sudden burst of familiar griping invaded the hospital hallway.

"Jeez, Bryon, cut me a _break_! I was just-"

"Oh, yeah, Pony. Just so you know, if I die, you can't have any of my things. You hear me? _Nothing_."

"Bryon, _come on,_ it's not _that_ bad..."

But it was. The taller boy's hand was swathed in a makeshift casing of paper towels, and still Dallas could see the enormous spot of red that drenched it.

"What the hell happened?"

Pony's head snapped up, his hands stilling on Bryon's. "Dally..."

It seemed Mrs. Cade had delivered the news. As the redhead struggled to regain his mental footing, Bryon spoke.

"I was _trying_ to help Pony make lunch-"

He snapped to attention, again. "You mean inserting yourself in the way-"

"-and he stabbed my hand because he's a spiteful, bitter harpy."

"Once again, you were _in my way! _Dally, sympathize with me! I was chopping vegetables, and I went to put the knife beside the cutting board-"

"With the blade facing _down?_ Oh, _please_."

"-And this dumbass had his hand in the way!"

The couple continued to squabble even as a nurse led Bryon away, and Dally was left to wonder whether they'd done all that just to cheer him up.

Naw - they weren't that sharp.

With a sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair and leaned on a clean, white wall. Shit like this always had to happen to him.


	12. Different Sunsets

The final chapter... -sniff- Can't say I'll miss this - the late posts, the lack of motivation, etc. - but I've always loved that peak of a story where you want to do nothing but plan it and you're so eager to get it on paper and show it to someone. :) Anyways, the sequel, Slow Motion, will be out soon, and will tie up some loose ends with characters featured throughout the story. (It'll also be angstier and shorter, thank God.)

Now, without further ado, I give you... HLWA's final chapter. :)

* * *

**T**he sun seemed to rush as it set, eager to fall below the horizon as Dally waited, knee moving impatiently. He was sitting at the meeting point where Mrs. Cade had told him to wait, smoking as he flipped his lighter on and off.

It had been hours since he'd seen Johnny, and yet this guy he'd been sent to see still hadn't shown up - ignorant, slow-ass bastard.

Just as Dallas was contemplating setting the bench on fire (with lack of anything productive to do), a set of footsteps began to pound away on the concrete path, heading for the meeting place where Dally now came to his feet.

The young man squared his shoulders as the person came into view; the "stranger" had his thumbs in his pockets, familiar dark gold hair brushing his face as he went.

The man from the church parking lot smiled at Dally. "Hey, you."

The young man stared. "You the one Mrs. C asked me to meet up with?"

The man smiled. "Sheesh - you sure are nosy." But he avoided eye contact, glancing to the side as he haltingly asked, "Is... is Sandy really a 'misses' now?"

It took Dally a moment, but he figured "Sandy" must be Johnny's mother. "No - I was guessing from Johnny's existence she was once, but judging from that face you're making, I suppose not."

The man attempted to appear nonchalant, despite his visible discomfort. "Some things just don't turn out the way you always hoped they would; you just gotta' make the best of what you have." He smiled crookedly. "Speaking of my lack of health, mind sparing me another cigarette?"

Dally didn't mind, in fact, so he did.

After a few inhales and exhales of bitter smoke on both their parts, Dally asked, "Why didn't it work? She's a real sweet woman. Pretty, too."

His companion was quiet for a minute, and all Dally could hear for a while was the highway's roaring cars and the gentle swish of water off the dock nearby.

"We raised him together for a while... or not together, exactly, more like a divorced couple, carting him back and forth between us... But I don't have any legal hold over Johnny because neither Sandy nor are too sure that he's mine."

The man put his cigarette out on his shoe before he looked Dally right in the eye. The boy swallowed.

"But I still love him like he's mine; even though there's a wide chance he can't be. But I love him, and that's why I'm here."

Dally kept from making eye contact, pinning his gaze over the man's shoulder. He found himself asking, "You don't sound too sure that he isn't - have you considered a paternity test?"

"Be too painful," the man replied, wistfully. The expression on his face, the emptiness of his eyes, showed he wasn't lying when he said that.

Dally thought about it. "Still, I can tell you care about Mrs. Cay... Sandy, the way you asked about her. You could try."

When the man didn't respond, the younger man decided to change the subject. "Hey - I don't think I ever caught your name."

The man told him. Dally laughed.

"No wonder your kid gets Ponyboy," he said. Even as the man looked at him quizzically, he plowed on. "Your parents' total crack-heads or what?"

"Wouldn't know," the man pleasantly quipped. "I'm an orphan."

Dally took this as a queue.

"Hey," he said. "We should probably get going - Ms. Cade is waiting, you know?"

-

When they got back to the hospital Mrs. Cade stood up and started towards them, slowing her approach as she caught sight of Dally's companion.

"You came," she stated.

The man shrugged at her. "I guess I did."

Dally left the two love-birds to their wares, remembering what the nurse up front had said about the time, wanting to get in before visiting hours were over.

"Has he woken up yet?"

The nurse jolted in surprise at hearing Dally in the doorway, calming when she recognized him from regular visits.

"No," she answered sadly. "Most of his injuries have healed, but that blow to the head is proving more serious than we first thought."

As his heart sunk, Dally stared at the other boy's helpless-looking form as it lay surrounded by pillows. It seemed utterly impossible that a person who had had so much presence a small while ago was showing so few signs of life at all. As he looked at him, Dally wondered if Johnny's scar from the fire - a horrible, linear burn across his left arm - would ever go away, or if it would forever remain a reminder to Dally of what he had failed to do.

That was, if Johnny ever woke up.

Dally found himself too afraid to ask if he would and was grateful when the nurse turned away and left, giving them their privacy.

He sat down beside Johnny, took the boy's good hand in his, and began to do something he had very little experience with.

Dallas Winston began to pray.

-

It was so very dark.

A weight pressed down on him, a silence composed of the whispers of loved ones crushing his ears. He recognized all of the voices, but could define none individually; their presence, while comforting, tired him greatly.

And he was very tired.

He thought that, maybe, he needed to rest; yes, that should be alright. Just a little longer...

One whisper broke the barrier.

Johnny.

Something shifted, like a slab of rock moving from the entrance of a cave and allowing light to pool in its place.

God, God, I don't know if you can hear me... I don't even know if I _**believe**_ in you. But _**he**_ does, and I want him _**back**_...

I love you, he tried to cry out. I'm here, I promise!

The voice broke off its pleading suddenly as somewhere, someone began to hum "Across the Universe" at warp speed.

It seemed to take days to reach the surface (it was really only an hour or so), but when he did, he took in all the air he could muster and screamed out in agony.

-

"I love you!"

The scream woke Dallas out of his restless dreams with a start. Beside him, in the bed, Johnny thrashed.

Awake.

Mouth gaping like an idiot, Dally shot to his feet, trying his best to calm the other boy.

"Johnny, Johnny, shh, shh, shh! It's okay! I'm right here..."

The brunette's eyes - which, up until now, had been stubbornly squeezed shut - opened wide. "Dally?! Dally, I-"

"It's okay!" the older boy gasped, to relieved to realize Johnny was trying to tell him something. "God, it is so okay now because God be damned you're awake..."

"Dally," Johnny tried again, voice muffled in the older boy's sleeve "Dally, I-"

"Jesus, you had us so fucking worried - you do that again and I'll make sure you don't wake up, God damn it!"

"Dally-"

"What were you thinking?!" Dally interrupted, joyous surprise quickly turning to anger. "Next time, you save yourself first! You first, and the kids can just fend for themselves. That's what all those airline safety videos tell you to do, isn't it?"

"Dally!"

He pulled back and looked at the other boy, expression painted with conflicting anger and worry. "Yeah?"

Johnny's eyes softened; he loved Dallas. Every silly, stupid, irresponsible thing about him.

Dally pulled Johnny to himself again, but easier this time, making sure to be ginger in handling the injuries that might still be sore.

"I love you," he whispered. Johnny could feel his heart pound and face flush as he reached up to return the embrace.

"I love you, too," he gasped around tears.

Through the blur and over Dally's shoulder, Johnny could see medical staff and his parents, rushing into the room. He guessed they had seen a change in his vitals, though he wondered what had taken them so long.

Then again, maybe he'd simply lost track of time, here, like this.

"How lucky I am," he whispered to Dally.

"How lucky we are," he corrected, kissing him with finality.

-

Reincarnation is a tricky business. But if you play your cards right, history doesn't always have to repeat itself. Or it will, anyway. Just that maybe, perhaps, you can have that happy ending instead. After all...

For those who deserve it, there's always room for a second chance.

-

**----x****  
**  
**The End**

* * *

It's CHEESY, I KNOW, and I'm sorry. Read and review, please! (God, I've been waiting for the day I could mark this fic as 'finished'!)


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